


To Neither Give Nor Take Excuse

by kitnkabootle



Category: Bramwell (TV), Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Assault, Bed-sharing, Bisexual Female Character, Bramwell X Holby City, Crossover, F/F, Female Doctors, Late Victorian Period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:46:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitnkabootle/pseuds/kitnkabootle
Summary: Eleanor Bramwell has been a practicing female doctor at her own infirmary called the Thrift in London's poor east end for years. Under constant strain and exhaustion, she finds herself in need of another doctor, but when one finally arrives, Dr. Bramwell finds her life irreversibly changed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this Serena/Bernie because it includes characters of both Catherine Russell and Jemma Redgrave. This has been something I've been toying with for awhile, and I thought why not begin it. If there's any interest, I will continue and if not it will act as a oneshot.

Eleanor dug the tips of her fingers into her temples as she exhaled slowly and steadily. To say the night had been long would have been a rather heavy understatement. She'd lost one patient in the late hours and another had been so hot with fever that she'd had to sit vigilantly at their bedside with cold compresses for most of the early morning.

She knew she had to hire another doctor eventually, being she'd been running the Thrift by herself since Joe had left four years previously, but finding a replacement had been a grave challenge. She had little to offer in the way of a salary and her infirmary, while it had vastly improved since she acquired it many years ago, was still struggling to keep up with modern medicine. Her father of course helped where he could but she couldn't go on as the only doctor for much longer. Fortunately there was to be an interested doctor visiting the infirmary that very morning, a Dr. Camp, whose experience was sure to contribute to the Thrift should he be willing that was, to work under a female doctor. A knock drew her attention to the door of her office.

"Dr Bramwell, there's someone here to see you," Nurse Ethel Carr stepped in smiling and set a cup of tea on the desk in front of her.

Eleanor sighed but offered a small smile, "Thank you," she started but then reached out a hand and circled her fingers around Ethel's wrist, "for everything. Your loyalty has been of great value to the Thrift and to me.”

"Well I hope those aren't my marching orders," Ethel answered in what could have been worry but the mirth in her voice dashed any possible misunderstanding. Eleanor's smile widened and she patted Ethel's wrist lightly before rising from her desk and untying her apron. She draped it across Ethel's outstretched arm and smoothed her hands down her dress before making her way out of her office and into the entryway. Ethel followed dutifully behind, eyes on Eleanor a little more than ordinary.

Eleanor stopped several feet from the woman in the doorway who was dressed in a very finely tailored velvet coat in navy with brocade at the cuffs and down the front of her matching skirt below. Clearly it wasn’t Dr. Camp who’d arrived, but it wasn't every day that the infirmary received well-to-do guests. The woman was removing a fur muff from her hands and all Eleanor could see was the large brim of her very elegant hat with feathers in rich shades of cream and violet that danced with the woman's movements.

"Good day." Eleanor straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands loosely together at her middle in order to display the confidence she felt herself lacking suddenly in the presence of a woman who was obviously of considerable means. Of course she’d been raised in the very society this woman obviously belonged to, but she’d never felt at home in it. 

She lifted her head, the feathers floating back with her hat revealing a woman roughly her age with sparkling brown eyes and a bright, if perhaps mischievous smile. 

"Ah you must be Dr. Bramwell! I'm delighted to meet you at last," the woman stepped forward and extended her gloved hand, taking Eleanor's and firmly shaking it, "I'm Dr. Serena Campbell,"

Eleanor must have been staring at the woman in silence for an uncomfortably long time as Serena laughed and squeezed her hand, "Well it isn’t that very odd is it? After all, you too are a female doctor."

Eleanor shook her head lightly, pressed her lips together in an embarrassed smile and finally dropped the woman's hand, "Yes, it's just—“

"It's just you weren't expecting someone quite as lovely? Well now I get that all the time." Serena winked and Eleanor flushed at the informality, and the honesty.

"I'm sorry," Eleanor found her voice again, "I was expecting a Dr. Camp."

"Trust the telegraph to get it wrong," Serena clicked her tongue, "A few extra letters won't change much will they?"

Eleanor smiled, "No, no of course. You'll have to excuse me, I have not slept in two days."

"Oh Dr. Bramwell, you should go home immediately." Serena reached up and unpinned her hat, pulling it away from her swept up chestnut curls that shone in a way Eleanor had never quite seen before. "I can handle it from here," Serena stated confidently as she helped herself to the apron draped over Ethel’s arm. 

“But Dr. Campbell, I—” Eleanor started to state the obvious: that Serena had not even seen the infirmary yet, had no idea how the Thrift operated, hadn’t even been given a position formally, but whatever argument she had been about to make first died on her lips when Serena placed a hand upon her forearm and leaned in to her. 

“I know this is not ideal, surely. I am not presuming I have a position here. But I know as well as you do that your options are limited at the moment.” Serena squeezed her arm gently and Eleanor looked at the delicately gloved hand that rested there, “I also know that my experience is quite comparable to yours. I’m a good doctor, Dr. Bramwell. Why not show you rather than rattle on about my credentials?” 

When Eleanor looked up into Serena’s eyes she found a disarming honesty there. She knew immediately that she could trust this woman, a foreign feeling in the medical trade and in a sea of under-qualified and overly pompous men. When Serena’s gaze remained fixed to hers, Eleanor felt the hesitations she had dissolving at an alarmingly fast rate.

“Very well, Dr. Campbell, I will rest in my office. Should trouble arise, I trust you will wake me.”

Serena smiled and when she removed her hand from Eleanor’s arm to shed her long, heavy coat and to finish tying the apron at her back, Eleanor felt a strange feeling of loss at the separation.

“I shall wake you in order to sing my praises once you have had a sufficient rest,” Serena boasted but on this particular woman’s lips it didn’t sound at all like grandiloquence.

Eleanor wasn’t sure how to answer that, so she merely pressed her lips together in a shy smile, nodded once and headed into the office. But she didn’t lay down straight away. Instead, Eleanor stood at the glass of her office windows, watching Serena through them. 

Doctor Serena Campbell puzzled Eleanor in ways that spread beyond the unusual way their acquaintance had been made. She was determined and sure of herself, not only in her abilities, the way Eleanor felt confident, but the confidence seemed to expel from Serena in waves, lighting the room with its brightness. She was also, to add to that confidence, radiant in so many other ways. She was one of the most beautiful women Eleanor had ever seen. Where her own hair was mousy, Serena’s was gilded and perfectly in place. Where Eleanor felt her own eyes were so dark and deep that they often appeared black, Serena’s were warm and glittering in their depth. 

Serena looked over to her and Eleanor felt her cheeks flush at having been caught out staring. But Serena merely pointed at her and then pressed her hands together, tucking them at the side of her head to imitate sleep. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile, even if her eyes rolled just a little. 

She settled herself down on the cot and straightened the layers of her skirt. Despite her confusion about what had all just happened in the mere moments that Dr. Campbell had swept into the Thrift and into her life, her exhaustion dragged her slowly to sleep.

_XXX_

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try very hard to remain dedicated to doing regular updates. I'm usually quite awful at that. But your comments have been of great inspiration. Thank you!

“Dr. Bramwell,” a voice reached out to her in the darkened haze of sleep.

“Eleanor,” it tried instead. The voice was feminine, melodic, so unlike Ethel’s waking calls that she often received in the infirmary.

She blinked, blearily, her eyes unfocused in the candlelit room.

She could only just make out a figure leaning over her, could smell the faint traces of lavender water that permeated the air. Then a soft slender hand took hers and she could see pale skin, reddened lips, long eyelashes, dark eyes. She blinked again and cleared what remained of sleep by bringing her unclasped hand to her lashes to rub at them.

Doctor Serena Campbell smiled down at her, squeezing her hand gently before drawing herself up to her full height, “I would think my diagnosis of sleep deprivation was quite well-founded and a rest was most undoubtedly the correct medicine for you, Doctor Bramwell.”

Eleanor sat up, ran her fingers along the sides of her pinned hair to tame any unruly strands that had pulled free in her slumber. She straightened the lace at her collar and stretched her back, feeling her spine protest beneath her tight corset.

“Yes, I think you are quite right. What time is it?”

Serena’s smile lit up the room, “It is half six now.”

“Oh!” Eleanor was shocked, “I have slept that long? How did it all, I mean it—”

“I assure you I was more than capable of handling the patients,” Serena offered her hand once more to Eleanor to help her up.

“Thank you, Dr. Campbell,” Eleanor smiled while taking the proffered hand and rose from the cot with a small groan as her body protested the shifted position.

“If you could call me Serena, I would be all the more pleased. May I call you Eleanor?”

“Of course,” Eleanor regarded Serena carefully in the dim light. It seemed too good to be true, to have not only found a doctor that wanted to work for the Thrift, but also a woman, and a seemingly kind woman at that. While slightly leery that some horribly dark secret would come tumbling out of Serena Campbell’s wardrobe, Eleanor couldn’t help but put her trust in the woman.

Serena finally broke the silence, “I suppose I should not wait demurely for the official welcome correspondence and assume that you may wish to procure my services on a more permanent basis?”

Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh. Subtle, Serena Campbell was not, and it was something she quite admired in her.

“Doctor _Serena_ Campbell,” Eleanor emphasized the woman’s given name, “I would be most pleased if you would consider staying with the Thrift on a temporary basis, after which time we may both assess if the position is agreeable to you.”

“Doctor _Eleanor_ Bramwell,” Serena countered, lips turned upwards and eyes alight with mirth, “I humbly accept this position, of which you have so generously offered without even the slightest cajoling on my part.”

Serena offered her hand and Eleanor took it, shaking it firmly.

\---

The weeks that followed the addition of Doctor Campbell to the Thrift went uncharacteristically well, with very little hiccough and steady flows of patients in and out of the infirmary. With the new doctor came a levity that Dr. Bramwell had not been accustom to for years. She enjoyed her work again more than usual, happy to have a way to balance the work with other necessities such as sleeping and eating, things that had been left to the side during the harrowingly long days.

Serena fit in remarkably well. She seemed to always be in a spirited mood, with an infectious laugh and often ready with an amusing anecdote. However, despite her friendly and bold personality, Dr. Campbell never suffered fools; ready with a sharp tongue when a temperamental patient acted up or a ruffian came around. Even Nurse Carr seemed to like her, and Nurse Carr liked very few people.

Eleanor’s father noted the change in his daughter too.

“Eleanor, where on earth are you off to with such a sunny smile this morning?” He’d been watching her flit around the parlor collecting her bag and hat as she hummed pleasantly all the while.

“Oh, just the Thrift, father.” Eleanor placed her gloved hands on his shoulder and dabbed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“I had thought a faire had arrived in town to bring about this good humor in you.”

“Oh father,” Eleanor rolled her eyes, “can’t a woman simply enjoy her profession?”

Robert Bramwell huffed, “Well, I might have asked you that same question months ago!”

Eleanor sighed, “Yes I know I was dreadful to be around. I do apologize, really.” She looked into her father’s eyes a moment before turning to face the looking glass, where she slid her hatpin neatly in place.

“It is just so much easier, what with Dr. Camp—“

Eleanor spotted her father’s rolled eyes in his reflection, and he tutted, “Ah yes, this Doctor Serena Campbell you go on and on about.”

“Father, I would hardly call it going on,” Eleanor turned to face her father and shook her head at him. He was smiling.

“All I’m asking Eleanor, is that you bring this Miss —“

“Doctor,” she interrupted.

“That’s correct,” Robert then emphasized, “ _Doctor_ Serena Campbell to our home so that I may finally meet the woman, and see for myself if she is as grand as you say.”

Eleanor smiled and bowed her head, “Very well, I shall ask her to dinner this evening.”

“Good show,” Robert touched his daughter’s cheek and popped his tall hat on his head, “Shall we share the carriage?”

Eleanor linked her arm happily with his.

\---

“You look lovely Miss,” Kate smiled as she pinned the last of Eleanor’s curls in place.

Eleanor looked at her reflection, satisfied.

“It has been a long time since we have had a guest for dinner hasn’t it Kate?”

“Oh yes, Miss! Is Doctor Campbell as charming as everyone says?” Kate asked, gathering up the bits of hair ribbons and pins from Eleanor’s dressing table and tucking them into the wooden box.

“She is.” Eleanor couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

It was true, certainly, that Eleanor and Serena had been well suited to one another. They had become colleagues so easily and friends just the same. While they had not had time to spend any moments together beyond the walls of the Thrift, there had been overlapping shifts at the infirmary and they had managed easy conversation.

They’d had a disagreement or two as well, and while Eleanor had not been known as demure herself, Serena Campbell could be made of pure fire when it came right down to it.

The largest disagreement had been over treating a patient with an unknown illness. Serena had argued that the woman needed rest and close observation while Eleanor had suggested that surgery was the only option as she had seen a similar case before. Their disagreement had almost come to shouting when Serena had implored Eleanor to trust her. What she had seen in Serena’s pleading eyes had weakened her resolve and eventually, she had given in.

The patient lived, and a week later had returned home to her family. Doctor Campbell had never once brought it up again. There had been no matter-of-fact glances, no carelessly dropped criticisms. The matter had simply gone away with the patient. Eleanor had found herself puzzled by it. In the the past, men had insisted on gloating when she had been incorrect and she had assumed it would be the same with Dr. Campbell regardless of her sex. It was a pleasant surprise.

All of it was such a pleasant surprise when Eleanor thought of it. She hadn’t had a true confidant since Joe Marsham had left, and even then that friendship had been muddled with unrequited feelings of love. He’d watched her too closely, wondered at her choices with too much personal interest. It simply became much easier to keep to herself.

Now with Serena, it’s become less complicated. It’s easy to speak with her because Serena is unbiased and intelligent. Granted life had not been quite as spun from control as it had once been for her. She has less on her mind, a much lighter heart, less fear for her future. Eleanor is also aware that she has grown quite a lot over the years as a woman.

She is no longer concerned with the poetic sides of life; of love and loneliness. She doesn’t worry that she will never marry. In fact she’s glad of it. Glad to have the pressure off now that she is closing in on her fortieth year. She’s not a debutante, she’s not primed and primped for marriage. Friends have stopped sitting her very near to eligible bachelors with estates and titles. She attends parties because she chooses to and she goes quite contentedly on her own. There is a freeness to it that sets her apart from the sins of her past. The knowing, pitying looks have left her at last and now look upon much younger and new arrivals on the grand stage of London society. She doesn’t for a moment miss it.

But there are some things she does miss, if she is honest with herself. Fortunately, she is rarely that morosely honest and it only catches her at her weakest, quietest moments.

It’s the downright sinful feelings of desire that she misses the most. She remembers what it feels like to be in lust, to have skin that prickles at someone’s nearness. To feel her stomach shivering within itself even as she presses her hand firmly against it to make it cease. She misses being touched, looked at, courted and flirted with. It’s silly and it’s fleeting, but all the same it is what she feels.

She is happy now. Content that the Thrift still goes along, despite it never having become profitable. She manages to keep the infirmary filled with medicine and bandages, and while she can’t hire full teams of doctors and nurses, she can keep the doors open. There are two boys who help out with chores around the place and there is Nurse Carr who keeps everything in order and as it should be. There are also two other nurses that help out, which has allowed Nurse Carr the freedom to choose her hours more carefully which lends itself to her budding new romance with the Blacksmith two streets over.

Then there is Doctor Serena Campbell.

\---

“—and that is when I told him just exactly what it was he could do with his cane,” by the time Serena had finished her story, everyone at the table was laughing loudly. Eleanor dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her glove and Robert lifted his glass in cheers.

“I rather do hope I have not offended anyone,” Serena smiled, her eyes momentarily downcast, “or I fear I shall never be asked back!”

“Absolutely not, Doctor Campbell.” Robert Bramwell coughed into his kerchief, tears of laughter still clinging at his eyelashes, “We are very fortunate to have your amusing company. My daughter was very right to sing your praises.”

Eleanor flushed when Serena’s gaze fell on her. Frederick Grantham spoke up then, causing most of the attention at the table to drift away from them and Eleanor was glad for it.

“Singing my praises?” Serena asked aside, smile blindingly bright.

“You shouldn’t take what my father says strictly as wrote,” Eleanor lifted her glass to her lips, speaking past the brim, “He has a flair for exaggeration.”

“Is that so?” Serena asked and wrinkled up her chin, “Well I shall be certain to make more of an impression with you in the future.”

Eleanor laughed and Serena smiled, brown eyes on her, warm and somehow distracting.

When the evening drew to a close and Serena made her farewells, Eleanor saw her out to the stair.

“It has been really quite wonderful getting to know you Eleanor,” Serena reached out to enclose one of Eleanor’s hands within hers, “Thank you for taking your chances with me.”

“It is us both that are fortunate Serena, for I have been so grateful to you for your help at the infirmary,” Eleanor paused briefly before adding, “and for your friendship.”

Serena squeezed her hand within the warmth of her own, eyes meeting. They stood for a moment, neither speaking and neither making a move to go. It was Serena who looked away first, dropping Eleanor’s fingers before making her way to her carriage. When Serena lifted a hand to wave, Eleanor returned it, arms wrapping around herself to ward off the sudden chill.

And when she watched as the carriage rolled all too easily into the night, over the cobbles slick with rain, Eleanor felt her skin prickle.

  
\---

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, two updates within 24 hours.

As the winter winds blew colder, snow came to London and blanketed the houses and streets in layers of white that grew black and muddy from carriage tracks and soot. Nights came at freezing temperatures and with it, the poor arriving en mass to the infirmary, seeking warmth. 

Serena and Eleanor found themselves rarely within the walls of the Thrift at the same time, both needed so desperately that they could not leave the infirmary without a doctor for any length of time. 

It was during that time that Dr. Joe Marsham had returned. He had stopped in to see Eleanor and had decided to stay on for the winter months after seeing the dark circles under her eyes; lending a hand as she had once done for him, so long ago. 

With Joe’s help, they only just managed to cover all shifts without anyone losing any great amount of sleep. Serena preferred the night shift, Eleanor the early morning and Joe generally took the evening. That was most days anyways, though they did swap out occasionally.

The Thrift seemed to hold steady against the weather, a pillar of strength in a dire community. With Christmas approaching a merry spirit seemed to engulf the place, putting everyone in a good mood. Smiles came easier to patients and doctors and it seemed like everyone carried the good cheer over the threshold and into the streets of East London.

That is until the morning of the twentieth of December.

Eleanor arrived at the infirmary a full thirty minutes prior to when she had been scheduled. The morning air, while it chilled her to the bone, had been crisp and nipped at her cheeks bringing a handsome flush to her pale skin. The ease at which the days came and went had given her a sense of security she’d not often felt. She took a deep breath, enjoying the darkness of early morning for a brief moment before letting herself into the unlocked infirmary. 

It was odd to have the door unlocked while it was dark, but not completely unusual. It would have been George, no doubt, one of the boys who helped clean the infirmary at night and acted as a porter for the night nurse and doctor. She had reminded him time and again but he never seemed to remember. She made a mental note to remind him perhaps more firmly when she saw him.

But she didn’t see George as she walked through the eerily dark clinic. She didn’t see Doctor Campbell either and no nurse. An uncomfortable feeling filled the pit of her stomach then and her steps came quicker on the floorboards as she looked around. Patients lay in their beds still, obviously having been attended to. A cup of still-warm tea even sat on one of the bedside tables. 

“Nurse Heighton? George?” Eleanor called out but was greeted with only silence. Stepping back to the entryway and towards her office, she felt the grind of broken glass beneath her feet. Her stomach flipped and Eleanor’s eyes rose to the open office door.

“Serena?” she said quietly, the name felt painful on her lips. She rushed forward through the door and felt the blood drain from her face.

Serena was on her hands and knees on the floor, skirt torn at the back and what appeared to be blood on the lace of her bloomers. She turned her head upwards towards Eleanor, tears on her cheeks, her chest heaving from what had obviously been a struggle. 

Glass littered the floor around them and Eleanor rushed through it, kneeling at Serena’s side and wrapping her arms around her trembling shoulders.

As Eleanor held her, Serena’s sobs came with greater ease, wracking her body. 

There was a blood splatter on the floor, muddled with the glass and tainting the lower side of the wall. A box of medical equipment was overturned and a scalpel, red with fresh blood, sat in a small pool of scarlet on the wooden floorboards. 

“My God,” Eleanor whispered, the tears stinging her own eyes furiously, “Serena, oh God, Serena what has happened here?”

But the question wasn’t for Serena to answer, not yet anyways. The question was broadly aimed, more heavenward than anything. Eleanor briefly recalled the attack she had experienced when she had first started the infirmary. A patient had tried to overpower her and she, still in one of her finest evening gowns from an earlier soiree, had been lifted on to the operating table before she was able to use his own wound against him by digging her fingers into it. The knowledge of what he had tried to do, hand grappling at her thigh, still haunted her at times when the infirmary was altogether too dark or too quiet. 

She looked at Serena again and held her more tightly.  _ That can’t have happened to her. _

Eleanor slid from her knees onto her hip, helping Serena to sit back slowly. Looking into the other woman’s face, Eleanor’s chest tightened at the blood on her lip, running down her delicate chin. Her eyes were closed, her expression painful and twisted in fear. Tears made her dark eyelashes cling together in clusters, her cheeks wet and her usually pristinely pinned hair pulled half down. 

Eleanor stroked her cheek and pulled Serena’s head to her breast, whispering soothingly to her.

“I have you Serena,” Eleanor’s own trembling hand made small circles on her back, “I have you. You are safe now.”

Serena choked on a rush of air, coughed on it and finally opened her red-rimmed eyes, inches from Eleanor’s. Her lips moved wordlessly for a moment before she found her voice and when she did, it was quiet.

“Eleanor, I—I—” Serena stuttered, her breath still coming in short gasps.

Eleanor shushed her kindly, a rebellious tear of her own spilling past her bottom lashes and trailing down her cheek, “Serena you don’t have to speak.”

Serena didn’t.

Eleanor moved to let go of Serena in an attempt to stand but the woman’s bloodied hands clutched at her, white-knuckled. 

“Serena I need to get you to a bed and out of this broken glass,” Eleanor whispered carefully in Serena’s ear and she nodded in understanding, finally loosening her grip enough to allow Eleanor to stand. She helped Serena up as she did so, wrapping one of Serena’s arms around her shoulders to steady her. 

“Can you walk?” Eleanor asked gently and Serena nodded again, moving alongside Eleanor with a pronounced limp that Eleanor made mental note to examine later.

It felt like a long stretch of time but was likely only minutes before Eleanor was able to settle Serena into a proper bed. She had cleaned up her face with a warm cloth, the bowl of boiled water tinged pink now with Serena’s spilled blood.

Eleanor ran her hands over her clothed body, along her arms, down her sides, over the boning of her corset. She would have to do a more thorough exam eventually but she didn’t want to put Serena through any more trauma than was absolutely necessary. When her hands arrived at Serena’s legs, Eleanor found she couldn’t look Serena in the eye.

“Did he —?” but Eleanor trailed off because she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. 

When Serena’s answer didn’t come, her eyes fluttered upwards from the woman’s torn skirt to her glistening eyes. Serena shook her head slowly and Eleanor let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.  _ No, thank God. _

She took one of Serena’s hands in her own and squeezed it, offering the faintest of smiles even though her stomach still turned in discomfort.

The door to the Thrift swung open suddenly and Serena whimpered audibly at the noise. Eleanor was on her feet in seconds, grabbing a glass dish from the bedside table, the only weapon within reach. 

“I have a knife and I will use it!” Eleanor lied but her voice did not betray her when she needed it, cold and loud and as threatening as she could be.

“It’s me and a bobbie!” George’s familiar voice was heard before the boy was seen, running down the hallway towards them. 

Eleanor dropped the dish on the bedside table and watched as the officer from Scotland Yard rounded the corner into the room.

“Doctor Bramwell I presume,” the officer spoke kindly enough and moved slowly into the room to stand beside her.

“Office Robert Medcalf,” he said, offering his name before turning his eyes to the woman in the bed. 

“Robbie can ‘elp!” George exclaimed from the doorway, “I told him all wot I saw.”

Eleanor sighed softly and motioned for George to draw closer, which he did.

“You were very brave George to go for the police,” Eleanor placed a hand to the side of his ruffled head. 

George smiled but his face was still rumpled in concern, “I hope Doctor Campbell will be okay.”

Eleanor’s mouth opened to reply but Serena’s whisper cut the silence first, “Thank you George, I will be.”

Eleanor’s eyes flashed to Serena and watched the woman’s lip trembling as fresh tears leaked down her temples, wetting her hair.

Robert,  _ or Robbie as he insisted on being called _ , had kindly asked Eleanor to leave while he spoke privately to Serena. Serena had protested this at first but had finally given in when Eleanor had placed a gentle hand to her cheek, “I will be just outside the room when you need me.

She went back to the office and looked it over again slowly. Imagining Serena being attacked by an assailant in the Thrift,  _ her Thrift,  _ made Eleanor’s nerves spark with guilt and fury in equal measure. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned to look through the glass of her office window. She couldn’t see Serena from her position but could watch Robbie gesturing as he spoke.

Time passed and eventually he smiled at something then reached downwards towards the bed. Eleanor felt her brows pull together and spine tingle her into action. She flew out of the office over the broken glass and stopped in the doorway, skidding across the floor abruptly. Robbie looked up then from the paper he had been showing Serena, a confused expression passing over his features.

“I am sorry,” Eleanor felt her stubborn side winning the internal war as it often did, “but Dr. Serena Campbell is my patient and she needs to rest.”

Robbie sighed and stood up slowly, “I’ll be back later on to check on you Serena,” he said in a voice that Eleanor found inappropriate.  _ And how dare he call her by her given name? She is Doctor Campbell. _

She watched Serena nod slowly and offer a kind, if strained smile then saw him out of the Thrift and into the street.

“Keep this door locked, Dr Bramwell until I return,” he said, straightening his hat and collar against the winter’s morning. Day had begun to break.

“Of course.”

Eleanor found she didn’t have a smile for the man and she couldn’t ascertain why. He had been kind enough and Serena had seemed to like him, or at least tolerate him. He even seemed very willing to help. 

But something set Eleanor’s teeth on edge at the thought of him. She closed the door with an extra loud thud which she pretended to herself was to shut out the cold.

\---

_ To be continued _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your interest in this. Comments really do help inspire me and I thank you for them!

Robbie returned, as promised later on in the afternoon and asked more questions. For her own part, Eleanor hadn’t managed anything but clipped and short words in response. Afterwards, he and another officer briefly looked over the office, but neither seemed to find anything of any importance and both had eventually left with little else to keep them there. Something about the way Robbie had looked at Serena made Eleanor sure he would return. It infuriated her.

After seeing both officers outside of the Thrift and having Dr. Marsham arrive for evening shift, Eleanor found herself still lingering in the doorway. Serena noticed her and motioned for her to come closer, which she did without trepidation.

“Eleanor,” Serena extended her hand and Eleanor took it easily enough, their fingers brushing, interlocking in a simple manner that made her feel almost instantly at ease.

“I must thank you for everything you have done,” Serena’s lip glistened red from the angry welt across it, her eyes sunken and blue from the length and weight of the day. 

“It is my pleasure to help you, Serena,” Eleanor squeezed her hand, “in any way that I can.”

They looked at one another closely and allowed silence to sit comfortably between them. 

“When, when do you think I will be able to go home?” Serena’s voice was quiet still, lacking her usual melodic style.

Eleanor's voice quieted to match hers, “I would like to keep you until at least tomorrow afternoon and we can assess how you are fairing then.”

“I wonder, if—  well if you, well I know you should get on but—  if you wouldn't mind sitting with me,” Serena’s dark eyes searched hers, fear tangible and heartbreaking therein, “for awhile.”

“I would be glad to, Serena” Eleanor tightened their grasp briefly, her other hand stroking Serena’s forehead with gentle fingertips. Indeed, Eleanor felt she would do anything Serena asked.

It was Dr. Marsham who woke Eleanor early the next morning, hand still clasping Serena’s who slept on easily beside her. 

\---

In the days that followed, Serena’s health improved. Words came a little easier and she could sit up unaided in her bed and walk around the clinic. While it was obvious that there was still a long way to go both physically and mentally, Dr. Bramwell gave her permission for Serena to leave the Thrift if she took an absence for a fortnight at her country home.

With Doctor Campbell’s carriage waiting outside the Thrift doors, tendrils of warm air swirling from the nostrils of the horses and making clouds in the cold winter air, Serena turned to face Eleanor. She was bundled up in coat and hat with an extra coat on top for good measure that Eleanor had brought along from her home and insisted she wear, but still she looked chilled to the bone, her skin a frightening shade of white.  

“Oh Serena, are you sure you feel well enough?” Eleanor’s bare hands, pink from the cold, closed around Serena’s forearms as she peered into her eyes. Serena looked back at her, wrinkles at the edges of her eyes deeper and mouth drawn.

“Eleanor, I—” Serena started but fumbled over what it was she was trying to say. Eleanor’s eyes implored her, and her fingers squeezed at her friend’s delicate arms reassuringly through the layered clothing. 

It was enough to bring words back to Serena’s tongue.

“Would you, I know that I am asking quite a bit, I don’t wish to be inappropriate or to ask too much of our friendship—” Serena took Eleanor’s cold fingers into her gloved ones, “it’s just, would you consider, I mean if it wouldn’t be asking so very much, and indeed if it is, I wouldn’t dream of pressuring you. But would you come to Cottingwood House and— “ Serena’s eyes fell to their hands before slowly returning to Eleanor’s, “stay with me?”

Eleanor could feel tears prickling at her eyes but she willed them away because sentimentality was not what Serena needed right now. It was about Serena’s safety now, about having a companion and who better to ask than one’s dear friend? She didn’t have to think about it.

“Of course I will stay with you, Serena.” Eleanor smiled.

“Oh good.” Serena’s features immediately brightened, an expression that had been unfortunately absent for the past several days.

“Very good,” Serena smiled again, letting out a trembling breath.

“I shall go home to fetch my things and finish up here and I shall see about asking my father to help at the Thrift while we are away.”

Serena nodded quickly, tears spilling over her dark bottom lashes and down one cheek. She nudged them away with her gloved fingertips and leaned into Eleanor placing a quick, chaste kiss against her cheek before climbing the stairs to the carriage and closing the door behind her.

Eleanor’s ice cold fingers traced the kiss long after the horses had set off and only vaguely remembered to wave just as the carriage was turning down the end of the lane.

\---

“Oh Eleanor—” Robert protested only half-heartedly as he watched Kate trying to properly fold the dresses that Eleanor was throwing out of her wardrobe on to her bed, “it’s just such a long time to be away.”

“And have I ever asked for this kind of help from you before, father?” Eleanor asked over her shoulder as she gathered stockings and boots suited to walking through the countryside, dropping them beside the pile.

“I can’t recall it now, but I’m sure you have!” It would only be in character for Robert Bramwell to offer up some opinion on the matter, despite being happy to see his daughter taking a much needed break from her charitable work, even if it was to do even more charitable work for her close friend.

“Besides that, I shall miss you,” he grumbled, his mouth downturned.

“Father, it will only be a fortnight and then I shall be back,” Eleanor finally turned to face him, touching him kindly on his shoulder.

“Oh well I suppose I can be persuaded, but only if you will agree to sing with me when you return.”

She smiled at that, kissing her father’s cheek, “I always do.”

“Yes,” Robert acquiesced, “I shall miss you, you know.”

“And I, you!” she said quickly before turning back to her things, counting off what she had and what she might be missing.

“Well try not to look too brought down by it,” Robert couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice and Eleanor merely rolled her eyes and tossed a lace kerchief at him.

\---

The journey to Cottingwood House was comfortable and close enough to travel by coach but far enough away from the city to be private and less available to distraction. There was something freeing about the countryside, bringing an ease that was all too often choked away by the soot and dirt of the streets of East London. 

Now as the winding labyrinth of brick buildings and worn cobbles gave way to long stretches of hoof-worn paths, stretching fields of grass and tall leafless trees, Eleanor allowed herself to relax. Beside her in the carriage, Serena slept, body slouched as much as a corset would allow and head resting limply on Eleanor’s shoulder. 

Eleanor turned her head into the smell of rosewater permeating the air that was made stronger by her proximity to Serena, chestnut hair silkily gliding against her chin. She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes and tried to commit it all to memory. Somehow this friendship with Serena, this closeness had felt very important to Eleanor, more important than any other friendship of its kind. If she were very honest and candid with herself, it felt more important than any romantic relationship she’d ever had either. Perhaps it was merely because she had never met her soulmate. Perhaps it was because this feeling of absolute completion was something not shared with men, but for the exclusivity of women to feel for their dearest companions. She had never before had such a companion. 

While Eleanor could not comprehend what it was that made Serena Campbell paramount in her life, she knew that whatever it was felt right. She had found a kindred spirit, perhaps. _Yes, that by name, was it._

She looked down in her lap where Serena’s hand rested comfortably within her own and turned her attention out the window at the narrowing trees lining the road. The steady bump of the carriage over the odd stone or dip in the dirt was a reassurance that life was as it was meant to be at this moment. She was unmarried, yes, and no longer considered a young woman with appealing prospects. A spinster by all accounts. Eleanor didn’t care one fig about that. For not having a husband allowed her the privilege to make up her own mind. If she wanted to spend her days at the Thrift, an often thankless job and a constant struggle, then she could without apprehension. If she wanted to ride her bicycle, drawing indignant huffs from the Ton as she rode through the park, then she would. 

And if she wanted to go with Serena Campbell her dearest friend, wherever she liked, she would.

Anywhere Serena asked, she would go; be it by sea to America or on foot to the Alps.

\---

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really having fun writing these two and I hope you're enjoying reading. Any comments are appreciated and they do inspire quicker updates.

They reached Cottingwood House by tea time and with the house staff having been forewarned of their imminent arrival, a meal had been prepared. Eleanor wasn’t able to get a good look at the exterior of the estate as the lateness of the winter day had swallowed the sun and both gardens and structures were cloaked in darkness, but she could tell that Serena’s country home was shockingly large.

The servants, she was introduced though she found it hard to remember all of their names, broke off from their formal line with maids taking cases from the carriage in pairs and the butler Mr. Hawtrey leading their way into the dining room. Ordinarily she would have been expected to change before dinner into a more suitable dress for sitting a meal, but Serena insisted they go in as they were.

“I cannot wait a moment longer, I’m simply famished,” she said, linking her arm with Eleanor’s as they followed Mr. Hawtrey in to the dining room through tall double doors.

Two places were formally set at the end of a long table and she had barely settled into her chair before a piping hot plate was brought and lowered before her, smelling so deliciously that Eleanor’s stomach rumbled aloud.

Serena laughed despite her pinking ears but said nothing as the two enjoyed their meal in companionable silence.

Eventually, when they had slowed and finally finished, their stomachs filled with roasted quail and hearty vegetables, they were shown into the drawing room. It was as exquisite as every other room she had found herself in as well as remarkably ornate and she could barely decide where to rest her eyes. It was all so beautiful, a reflection of Serena Campbell and yet somehow not in her likeness at all. She had imagined Serena inhabiting a much smaller dwelling, finely fashioned of course but perhaps not quite as extravagant.

Serena had asked her parlour-maid to prepare two glasses of port for indulgence as they warmed themselves by the hearth of a crackling fire. Eleanor had initially perched at the end of the chaise to allow Serena the appropriate distance between them, but Serena had ignored propriety and settled right down beside her, so close that she could feel her friend’s warmth against her.

Silence circled them once again, both women matching gazes into the fire until she allowed herself to regard Serena, the firelight bringing a ring of gold to her glittering eyes. The cuts on her face were still glaringly present, as were the dark circles that spread beneath her lower eyelashes in purple blooms.

“Thank you for inviting me to Cottingwood House,” Eleanor interrupted the quiet, smiling warmly, “it really is such a treat.”

Serena’s fingers smoothed across the glass within her bruised hands and she felt her stomach clench uncomfortably at the sight of the wounds. She almost reached out to touch them, to inspect the damage, to remind herself that she had been very close to losing her dear friend completely.

She didn’t. Instead she asked, “Are you here all by yourself, when you take to the country?”

Eleanor knew it was an odd question, after all there was at least a staff of twenty wandering the various halls and rooms at any given moment, but still she couldn’t help but wonder if Serena had family she hadn’t spoken of.

“Mostly,” Serena took a sip of the port, turned it over in her mouth, “I was raised here at Cottingwood. There was my mother, my father and me; their only child. They hadn’t large families themselves so most of the people who came here were friends.”

Eleanor listened carefully and tried to picture Serena’s mother. She wondered absently if Serena favored her in appearance. Serena had once told her they couldn’t have been more differently matched in their personalities.

“The house certainly had more visitors when my husband was in town,” Serena paused for another sip of port and Eleanor couldn’t help but feel a prickle of surprise raising the hairs on the back of her neck. It was the first time she’d even considered that Serena was married.

Of course, she would be, with such an estate, such land, but what of her freedom to go and come as she pleased?

Serena apparently sensed her confusion and added, “My… the Baron... Lord Edward Campbell has since died.”

Eleanor’s shock was not assuaged, “You’re… you’re a Baroness?”

Serena smiled and the skin around her eyes crinkled, an expression she found endearing despite her confusion.

“I am yes,” Serena confessed.

“Well why haven’t you said? I’ve been addressing and introducing you incorrectly—”

“Not at all, Eleanor. I’ve no use for titles and formal addresses,” Serena turned on the chaise to angle herself toward Eleanor, touching her forearm with cold fingertips, “it causes people to act differently toward me. I’m sure you understand when you mention your own title, doctor.”

Eleanor smiled at that for she had seen it time and again, the straightening of shoulders, the lifting of indignant male chins, “Dear me, Lady Serena Campbell.”

Serena playfully batted her arm and laughed.

“I am very sorry to hear of your husband’s passing” Eleanor added in softer, sympathetic tones.

Serena’s lips tightened in a small smile in response and they spoke no more of it.

\---

The fire had turned the wood to embers by the time the maid came to show her to her room. Serena had appeared increasingly exhausted from their long journey and had let her head rest once more on Eleanor’s shoulder for some time before she had insisted they turn in and had sent Serena up before herself despite Serena’s mild, sleepy protest.

Eleanor was shown up a grand staircase and down a wide hallway peppered with various doors on either side. It seemed the house stretched on and on and she wondered how many rooms it held in total. They turned a corner and ventured quite far down a separate hallway before they reached the room she would be occupying.

When the maid lit the lamp light beside the bed, she noticed that her traveling trunk was already unpacked and her belongings stored in the wardrobe, quite already at home. The maid offered to help her disrobe but she declined and the young woman bid her a gentle, ‘Goodnight’ as she closed the door behind her when she left.

Eleanor took a few moments to bask in the silence and fragrance of the room. It smelled of freshly cut roses, of dried lavender and of richly polished wood, not at all like her own room at her father’s home. She considered then, as she unpinned her long hair and ran the silver tipped hair brush that she’d found on the dressing table through it, that she and Serena led startlingly dissimilar lives, despite being near in age and of the same profession.

First of all there was their wealth and status, that much had been at least as obvious by the look of Serena’s fine clothing when she’d first arrived at the thrift. Then there was the fact that Serena had been married, had lost her parents where Eleanor lived still at home with one of hers and had once been engaged. But even as she marked their differences, she found a similarity and familiarity in her friend that she'd never measured in another.

After having changed into her nightdress, a knock penetrated the silence she'd become so quickly accustom to that it startled her. To not be expecting a guest at such a late hour, it alarmed her enough to be careful at opening the door.

“Yes?” she pressed a hand to the wooden door and leaned her ear to it to listen for a response.

“It's me.”

At the familiar sound of Serena’s voice, she made haste in opening the door and stepped behind it to allow her entrance. As she closed the door to the room behind her, she lifted a hand in front of her chest, suddenly modest at being seen by Serena in only her nightdress. Serena, however, didn't seem to notice or care as she too was dressed in a nightdress, pale in color with marabou feathers at its sleeves and trim, a style Eleanor had only previously seen in fashion leaflets. They were in fact so newly come to fashion that they were considered provocative and looking at Serena, the nightdress sheer but not revealing with a high enough collar, she understood the reasoning. She looked fetching. It made Eleanor blush to even think such a thing.

She stood staring at Serena's nightdress for what felt like such a great time that she failed to notice the concern on her friend's face and once she did it embarrassed her for looking so long without speaking.

“Serena what's happened?” she dropped the hand from her own chest and closed the distance between them, hands coming instead to rest delicately on Serena's forearms - all else forgotten.

Serena looked down briefly. Her hair had been tied in ribbons for sleeping and Eleanor noticed one shiny red sliver crookedly marring the parted row between the halves of silk at her crown.

“You probably think me foolish,” Serena started but before Eleanor could tell her it was not so, she continued, “but I am… I am having difficulty…”

“Oh Serena, you may tell me anything you think or feel,” she encouraged, squeezing her hands in reassurance, “I am your dear friend.”

Serena's eyes met hers and she whispered into the inches between them, “You are very dear, Eleanor.”

She felt color prickling high on her cheekbones and was glad when Serena extracted herself from her grasp and crossed the room away from her.

“I have trouble sleeping,” Serena admitted, her voice weakened in tone and volume, “since the incident.”

They hadn't spoken of the incident excepting when it was absolutely necessary and Eleanor felt pain in her chest at the reminder. But Serena didn't have to speak any further for Eleanor to understand her request.

“Would you like for me to read to you?”

“I would like that very much.” Serena turned back to face her.

“Should I come with you to your room or would you like to lay here?”

“Could we both lay here, I mean, if it is not an inconvenience?” Serena asked timidly, in such stark contrast to her usual demeanor.

“Of course,” Eleanor swallowed, her mouth having suddenly become uncomfortably moist, "you would never be an inconvenience."

She watched then as Serena moved to the bed and climbed on top of it, drawing back the blankets and settling herself against the large pillows. Eleanor followed afterward, taking the opposing side of the bed and slipping into it.

Even with the two of them atop it, the bed seemed so much larger than her own bed at home and still she felt Serena pressed into her side. She found herself thinking of that instead of finding the book she was meant to read out of and she apologized when Serena looked at her expectantly.

“Oh right, I don't have…” Eleanor knew she'd brought along a worn copy of Mauprat by George Sand from her father’s library but she hadn't yet managed to find it in the room from when it had been unpacked.

“Could you recite something to me? A poem perhaps,” Serena suggested and Eleanor felt herself relax at as she knew many poems by heart and was much better at reciting them aloud.

“Of course.”

By the time Eleanor had finished speaking several poems into the dimly lit room, Serena had fallen asleep once more on her shoulder.

She had no heart to wake her and didn't chance extinguishing the light as she allowed her own eyes to close and her head canted so softly to the side, her cheek nestled in Serena’s sweet smelling hair.

\---

When she awoke the following morning squinting against the light that shone in beams between curtains she had left undrawn at the windows, she found herself quite alone.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it. Your words encourage me, I really appreciate it enormously. And I know this is slow-moving but I think it sets the tone for these particular characters.

Cottingwood Estate looked remarkably changed in the light of the morning, with beams that snuck past curtains and over sills to spill in wide warm pools over the carpets and floorboards. There was a hum of life and mirth through the halls, a comforting presence that made Eleanor feel quite at home, despite the unfamiliar labyrinth of rooms and staircases. 

She’d been dressed that morning by the maid from the night before. Clara was her name, a young woman who looked still in her teens, with a trustworthy face that put Eleanor at ease. She was also much better than Kate at rolling and pinning her hair and when Eleanor looked at her reflection in the looking glass, she couldn’t help but admire the young woman’s work and thanked her for it.

Adorned in a pale linen dress she’d chosen specifically for the country, Eleanor followed Clara downstairs to the dining room where she saw Serena already seated. Serena looked up at her when she came in and Eleanor smiled when she rose and crossed over to greet her.

“You look very well this morning Eleanor,” she said, taking Eleanor's hands within hers. It was a peculiar thing, the way Serena touched her. It always seemed as though Serena were trying to reassure her, to comfort her by reminding her of her presence. Naturally, the effect it had on Eleanor was certainly calming but another feeling skirted around her subconsciousness, something that made Eleanor feel almost adored in a way. _Adored_ perhaps was not even a strong enough word to explain the feeling she felt when Serena’s slender fingers closed around hers, slid between her own, gloved or ungloved, clean nails and soft skin. 

Additionally, there was the way that Serena looked at her, peering up from dark sweeping lashes. Open and honest eyes, large and round and filled so completely with shining light that time could be  lost within them, a whole world eclipsed.

They spent the brisk morning in the main flower garden behind the estate, nestled relatively close to the house so that they did not have to go a very long distance to reach it. Serena was still recovering, after all, and it would not do to have her traipsing about the uneven meadows in the cold. But Eleanor did hope that little by little, further and further each day they could venture as Serena strengthened and her health improved.

Serena showed a great knowledge for flowers and plants and spent most of the time pointing out some of her favorites, such as the freesias which she did enjoy the scent of. She told Eleanor that she was disappointed that the rosarium was mostly pruned back to branches and therefore could not show her the fine blossoms that generally covered them in the spring and summer.

“Then I shall have to come back when the roses return in full bloom,” Eleanor said simply and watched as Serena’s face lit up in a wide smile.

“Return with the roses,” Serena said so softly that Eleanor was not sure she heard it, “I’d rather like that.”

Serena was still smiling and it made Eleanor’s footsteps all the lighter beside the parterre. 

In the afternoon a small rain shower had run them out of the garden and into the safety and warmth of the house. They changed from their damp clothes, took a light meal in the dining room and then moved to the drawing room where Serena sat behind the piano and Eleanor stood near to it listening. 

Serena’s fingers moved delicately over the ivory and Eleanor marvelled at how finely she played and how her music sounded so differently than her own, or that of her father’s, despite some of the songs being the very same. 

“Won’t you sing?” Serena asked her eventually and Eleanor felt her cheeks instantly burn at the thought. She liked to sing, but somehow singing in front of Serena made her feel foolish and inexperienced.

“I don’t recall the words,” it was an excuse, which Serena caught at once. She waved one hand, the music faltering in the loss of her fingers, and moved aside on the bench to leave room for her. Eleanor obeyed of course because Serena held a power to ask her anything at all, and she would do it without question.

She settled beside her, hip to hip, the fabric of their gowns whispering against one another and Serena lifted a finger to point at the words on the pages of music in front of her. 

“There you are, I shall play you in and you start when I lower my chin, alright?”

Eleanor began to sing when she received the signal, the first few lyrics sounding slightly under the notes, but by the second bar she’d found her voice. She wasn’t gifted with a beautiful singing voice, but it was passable and Serena smiled and watched her and it made her feel much less foolish under the appreciative gaze. 

They sang together for several hours, giggling in between songs, dropping notes, blundering whole verses and completely forgetting the tune and timing of certain songs all together. But it was joyful, light, unhurried. It were as though they had all the time in the world. 

Eleanor felt in that moment, with rain pattering on the window glass and gloomy clouds sinking low on the meadows with winds swiftly shivering the trees, that she had never before in the entirety of her life been happier. With Serena touching her wrist, whispering a curse in her ear when she misplaced her fingering and their laughter joined effortlessly together in unique harmony, Eleanor felt this was a symphony all its own - that this was happiness. 

That night when the knock came at Eleanor’s bedroom door, she opened it to Serena without words or hesitation and slept soundly with her dearest friend at her side.

\---

The next day an unfamiliar woman was sitting in the drawing room when they had finished with lunch and was announced by the parlour-maid as Mrs. Ditton. She was an older woman, fine-boned and thin with white hair pulled up in a fetching style under one of the most beautiful hats Eleanor had ever seen. Serena introduced Eleanor formally, then explained that Mrs. Ditton was her seamstress here for a dress fitting.

When Serena suggested they move to the quieter dressing room on the second floor as was their usual arrangement, Eleanor made to excuse herself.

“You’ll do no such thing, Eleanor. I would like to have you near for your opinions!”

“I hardly think my opinions on fashion are up to date—” she argued and when she looked to Mrs. Ditton, she found the woman’s pursed lips an indication that she was not alone in her self-deprecation.

“Nonsense, come,” Serena demanded, lips upturned and eyes positively shining at Eleanor before she turned and lead the way to the dressing room, Mrs. Ditton holding back to allow Eleanor to follow first.

There was a broad-surfaced tuffet in the middle of the dressing room that Serena balanced on in her stockinged feet, having removed her shoes for the fitting. Eleanor had perched somewhat awkwardly on the end of a chaise nearby after Serena’s insistence that she sit and be comfortable and had managed some semblance of it until Mrs. Ditton began unbuttoning the back of Serena’s gown and pushed the silken sleeves down her friend’s arms.

Eleanor could feel her blushes return foolishly and most evident as such, but hid it by averting her eyes and looking instead to several paintings hung on the walls, to an opened box of kerchiefs, an elegant cashmere shawl. 

When Serena next spoke, she didn’t dare look at her.

“Eleanor’s a doctor, Mrs. Ditton.” she had said said rather proudly.

“Is that so?” Mrs. Ditton responded in a tone that feigned interest, between muffled lips which sounded as though they may be holding pins.

“Yes! We work together. It is her clinic, the Thrift. You would be amazed at how well it is run and on an exceptionally modest budget," Eleanor could feel Serena's head turn towards her, "a budget I should hope to change in the coming months.”

Eleanor looked to Serena then, shocked at what she was hearing. Her gaze faltered almost immediately, lashes fluttering when she noticed that Serena had been disrobed down to an ivory corset trimmed in lace that matched the below-the-knee lacing of linen directoire knickers. She’d never realized until that moment how truly magnificent a woman could appear without the trappings of layered petticoats and dresses and whatever words she’d tried to say were forgotten, absent from her lips. 

When she looked back up to Serena’s face, she saw her friend’s penetrating brown eyes fixed on her, “It’s true you know, Eleanor. I should like to invest in the Thrift.”

“Oh Serena, I wouldn’t dream of that—” Eleanor protested once she found her voice, eyes remaining trained to Serena’s instead of anywhere else at all.

“No, I must insist. It cannot go on as it has been,” Serena waved her hands and Mrs. Ditton plucked at one of her wrists to lower it again as she measured the back of her arm. 

“We would be indebted, I wouldn’t want—”

“It is not a debt to be repaid Eleanor,” Serena sighed, “The people of East London deserve a clinic with the luxuries of modern medicine. I should like to purchase the tools we need to make the Thrift as successful as possible.”

“Is it so very antiquated?” Eleanor asked, feeling her ears redden and her chest tighten, nerves piqued by the suggestion that she wasn’t running the clinic in a suitable manner which was often a tender subject for her.

“Not at all.”  Mrs. Ditton pressed Serena forward into appropriate posture and she straightened her back before continuing, “It’s just that I want the Thrift to thrive.”

“As do I.” Eleanor could feel her temper rising but she swallowed against the dryness in her throat to tamp it down. It was her friend after all.

“Then I don’t see the problem. I want to help you Eleanor, it means so much to me.” Serena’s eyes were soft, imploring and honest and Eleanor felt the tension loosening when she thought on it. 

What Serena was proposing came from the woman’s large heart, not from a place of judgement.

“I do not wish to stamp on your toes, or take over as your rightful place at its lead. I merely want to offer whatever service I can that will ensure the Thrift is never in danger, that it has what it needs to function.” Serena’s eyes glistened with sincerity and Eleanor felt the last of her reserve tumble away.

“What you do at the clinic, your medical skills are of service to me. You, _Serena_ , your friendship is a service to me,” Eleanor did not care that her austere admission fell on Mrs. Ditton’s ears as well as Serena’s own. She knew it was important that Serena know how she felt in that instant. That she appreciated her. _That she did indeed_ —

Serena raised both hands to her chest as a smile warmed her features but Mrs. Ditton pulled them back down at her sides by the elbows.

“If you’d like these gowns finished before next year, you must keep in position Lady Campbell.”

Eleanor and Serena shared a glance and couldn’t keep the silent laughter from their countenances.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change because - thing's are getting a bit more vivid. Just a teeny, tiny bit in this chapter, though.
> 
> Your comments, as always, fuel my imagination and I couldn't do it as quickly without your help so thank you for that so much.

The first week of the fortnight drew all too quickly to a close and Eleanor found herself sulking when she thought of it. The time they had spent together in Serena’s country home had been unlike any other experience of her entire life. True she’d come to help her dear friend in her recovery, but had found herself swept up into the pure delight of Serena's company. Cottingwood House was like a dizzying dream and one Eleanor found herself too besotted to ever hope to wake from it. There were yet seven more days before they were due to return to London, but that would not comfort Eleanor completely.

Mrs. Ditton had returned several days following the initial dress fitting and Serena, with twinkling eyes and a wicked grin, had informed Eleanor that she was next on the tuffet for sizing. Serena wouldn’t say why her measurements were required of course, but Eleanor had a feeling it might be down to the fact that Serena had drawn from her the date of her approaching birthday. Humoring her friend, Eleanor had stood like a roman statue for Mrs. Ditton’s impatient fingers as she drew the measurement tape along her long, thin limbs. 

Their walks in the countryside had become longer and longer each day but they stayed relatively near the house at all times. Eleanor was careful that Serena not become overexerted with exercise and she watched Serena’s pallor for signs that they’d been out too long. Serena for her part, didn’t argue with Eleanor when she placed a hand on her elbow and altered their course from the field to the stony path back to the house.  

In the evenings, Serena would still come to Eleanor’s room and slip underneath the covers next to her, her body warm against her side. She even began bringing her own books, a different one each night for Eleanor to read from. Early in the morning, she would return to her own room before the servants climbed the stairs from the lower floors to begin their daily routines, for decorum’s sake. It wasn’t that what they were doing was wrong, Eleanor knew, but one did have an image to uphold even around one’s own staff and Serena was often the height of discretion in all manners of her private life.

“Darling Eleanor,” the low hum of Serena’s voice near to her side caused Eleanor to jolt with surprise from her place at the window. They had been enjoying an hour of quiet time after their midday meal and Serena had gone up to her rooms to nap during that time while Eleanor had taken up a space in the conservatory in a comfortable armchair facing out one side of the floor to ceiling windows. 

“Oh!” The book she’d been half-mindedly reading slid from her knee and thudded on the floor.  
  
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” an amused smile played across Serena’s lips and she leaned forward to retrieve Eleanor’s book for her, brushing her arm as she placed it back in the crook of her lap.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Eleanor couldn’t help but laugh at her own foolish reaction as Serena settled into the armchair beside her, both facing the picturesque view of Cottingwood’s impressive gardens.

“Edward used to say I skulked about hoping to catch him off guard,” Serena admitted, smoothing down her skirts to rearrange them, “and he was right you know. I quite liked keeping him on his toes.”

Eleanor smiled with Serena and a pause permeated the air until Eleanor dared ask, “Did you love Edward, very much?”

She regretted her words as soon as the very last syllable had left her lips, moreso when she saw Serena’s smile disappear and eyes darken. She could not for the life of her imagine what had emboldened her to be so inappropriately inquisitive. 

“My marriage was arranged,” Serena’s voice was quieter, harder, of someone lost momentarily in the past, “My parents desired his title, he needed our money. It was quite simple really.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean — ” 

“No, no dear Eleanor. The question was intended kindly. I wish only that I had kind words to answer it with.” 

Serena lowered her eyes to her own hands, tickled her bare finger where a ring once would have been, “Edward was charismatic, charming, the very life of every party  — and there were very many parties, “ she paused, smiling a bit at the memory. Eleanor smiled too, if only to be polite. She could only begin to imagine what a grand party would have been like in such a place as Cottingwood. 

But Serena’s smile faded quickly thereafter, “He was not a good man, Eleanor. He was pompous, hard, easy to turn to temper.  Worse so when he imbibed, which he did all too often.”

Eleanor watched as Serena’s shoulders rounded forward and she instinctively reached out to take Serena’s cold hands within hers in an attempt to protect her from the memory that seemed to be clawing at the door.

“By the end, we were strangers in this house. He’d drawn the life out of it — ” Serena’s watery eyes rose to meet Eleanor’s, “out of me.”

Eleanor squeezed her hands reassuringly, “It is alright, Serena.”

“The truth is,” her voice had dropped to a whisper and Eleanor found herself leaning forward to hear her, “I _hated_ him.”

Serena’s eyelashes closed tightly and a tear wove like a winding river along her cheekbone and down to catch at the line beside her downturned mouth. 

Eleanor slipped from the armchair onto her knees before her and held her hands tightly, looking up at her, “You are such a remarkable woman, Serena. Too deserving of every good thing in this world to have endured such unhappiness.”

Serena’s eyes opened at that, tears wetting the fragile skin beneath her eyes as she looked into Eleanor’s affectionate face. They were silent for a moment, eyes searching and fingers so tightly intertwined that no force could part them, earthly or otherwise. Serena bent towards her and Eleanor felt her warm and tear-stained lips press just delicately to the side of her own. Eleanor felt her stomach flutter and turn beneath the strong boning of her corset. She turned hazy and lightheaded and she found herself holding tight to Serena’s hands to steady herself on her knees.

When Serena moved back from her, Eleanor’s eyes sought hers and found something peculiar within their depths. It was an expression she’d never seen on her dear friend’s face and it unsettled her. 

“Serena — ”

But the spell between them was suddenly broken by Serena's forced smile.

“Let us not dwell on the past, for the afternoon is quite young and I do believe we have yet to find flowers for the table!” Serena extracted her hands and rose from the arm chair, offering a hand to Eleanor to help her up, her voice a painted picture of joy which Eleanor knew was merely a ruse to change the severity of their conversation.

Serena turned away and she could see her drying her tears on the back of her hand before looping her arm with Eleanor’s, “Let us go to the garden and see what the morning dew has brought us!”

\---

Later that afternoon as the sun began to disappear, stealing the beautiful grey sky along with it, Eleanor helped arrange cut flowers in the room in the house designed solely for its purpose. It was on the lower floor of the house, tucked away in the servant’s rooms quite near the kitchen but Eleanor could tell by the unsurprised look on the maids faces that it was not an unusual occurrence to see their lady in this particular area of the house.

Eleanor cut the stems at the appropriate angle and position at which she was instructed to do so, and handed the flowers one by one to Serena who arranged them with precision in the large vase she’d taken from the shelves that were lined with them. 

“Have you ever been in love, Eleanor?” Serena asked so quietly that Eleanor wasn’t sure she had heard her until Serena turned her warm brown eyes upon her.

“Love,” Eleanor repeated the word aloud and it sounded foreign on her own lips.

“Yes,” Serena smiled disarming, the way that Eleanor never felt she herself could. 

Eleanor had long tried to forget her dalliance with love, had managed to keep it in the past for a very long time where she had hoped it would firmly remain. But she felt she did owe it to Serena, a salve, of sorts, that she could apply to the raw wounds that Serena had shown her only hours previously.

“Yes,” Eleanor admitted, slicing through the crackling stem of a pink-blossomed flower, “Or, well I thought it was love but now I wonder if it was merely lust.”

The word made her flush but still she continued, “He was a doctor. We enjoyed one another’s company and I found him very handsome. He made me feel — ” Eleanor’s memory flashed with images of herself in the hotel room bed, naked and damp underneath him, her fingers on his back, his weight between her legs.

She didn’t raise her eyes to meet Serena’s, almost afraid of any judgement she would find there, “We, we… I lay with him as a wife should, though I never bore the title.”

There it was, her shame laid bare and in the open. The last of her tightly locked secrets dropped unpleasantly onto the table between them. She didn't dare go on to tell Serena how he had married another after promising himself to her, as it did not change what she had done. 

Neither spoke for awhile and Eleanor kept her chin down, blade slipping across the ends of the remaining stems in succession until Serena’s hand stilled her wrist, voice a low rumble very near to her ear, “That sounds like love to me.”

Eleanor closed her eyes tightly, drew in a long trembling breath, “Perhaps it was.”

But the quick beating of her heart was not down to a love lost  — but to the feeling of Serena’s hand on her pulse, presence by her side, breath at her neck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to JTiptree3 for helping me smooth the wrinkles out of this one!
> 
> Note: It's a bit mature going forward - so there you go. Also I cannot thank you all ENOUGH for your comments. My days are brighter for them and the last ones were so propelling I was driven to write an update in a couple of days. So they certainly help me write more quickly!

The knock came late in the evening waking Eleanor from her sleep. She blinked back the haze of slumber, smoothed down her long curls and called out for Serena to enter. 

She came in quietly, a shy smile at her lips as she closed the door and crossed to the bed, climbing beneath the covers. Eleanor noticed there was no book in her hands this evening as her dear friend lay back against the ivory pillow, turning on her side to face her.

“Did you not wish for a story this evening?” Eleanor asked, lowering herself down on her own hip, facing Serena as she too set her cheek against her pillow.

Serena slowly shook her head, watching her carefully through wide golden brown eyes, her teeth nudging against her lower lip, tinted pink from the friction.

Silence filled the room, breath mingling between them in syncopation. To relieve the tension that Eleanor felt building inside of her at the loss for words, she smiled and asked, “Then what shall I do?”

Somewhere on the mantle a ticking wooden clock kept time like a metronome counting out the seconds, steady and relentless broken only by  —

“Lay with me,” Serena breathed and swiftly sealed her lips to Eleanor's, her insistent mouth hot against hers. 

Eleanor fumbled against Serena's arms as Serena eased her on to her back and flattened atop her. The sensation of soft breast to soft breast restrained only by thin fabric made Eleanor’s stomach quiver, heightened by the shock of Serena’s tongue gliding against her own. 

Her breath expelled in quick bursts as Serena’s hands left her face and travelled down her side, taking fistfuls of Eleanor’s nightdress until the hem had grown high enough to slip her hand beneath. Fingernails scratched softly between her thighs parting them, finally reaching the swollen ache between her legs and drawing a moan from her throat that Serena quieted with her fervent lips.

It was only when Eleanor’s eyes shot open, cry strangled on her lips and fists full of sweat-dampened sheets, did she realize the morning light had just begun to filter through the curtains and she was quite alone. Serena’s book from the night before still lay open on the bedside table. 

\---

Eleanor felt out of sorts for the rest of the morning. The images from her dream plagued her like a great gripping nightmare. When she met Serena at the top of the staircase unexpectedly, she could feel her skin prickling as though each individual hair had been pulled from her body in tandem. 

“Are you unwell, dearest?” Serena asked and lifted her hand to touch it to Eleanor’s damp brow, but Eleanor stepped backwards out of reach, forcing a smile.

“No, no, I’m merely tired.”

“I rather hope reading to me in the evenings has not drawn your strength from you,” Serena was watching her carefully and Eleanor felt her breath catch uncomfortably in her lungs, burning her.  _ How could she have had such thoughts, so impure and unimaginable, about someone as innocent as the woman before her, bright sparkling eyes, sharp smile. _

“Actually, I do think I have not been sleeping as well as I might since our arrangement,” Eleanor blurted before she could stop herself. Serena’s features tightened and her back straightened at both the urgency of the words and their meaning.

“I did not realise,” Serena whispered color staining high along her cheekbones.

“Oh no, do not misunderstand, it has not been a burden — ” Eleanor tried to reverse course but found Serena’s shaking head and wavering smile stopped her.

“No, no. You are right to tell me. I will keep to my own bed in the evenings henceforth,” Serena’s hand lifted between them and seemed to reach for Eleanor’s but stopped short and fell back to her side solemnly.

“I think it quite urgent that we make our way to the dining room and see what delight Esther has for us this morning,” Serena’s voice was laced with false cheer but the pain her words had caused remained glaringly apparent and Eleanor felt it like a blade to her stomach, carving its way to her chest.  _ If only she could tell Serena about the dream, about the horrors of her mind and how she only wanted to protect her friend from herself and her wickedness. _

They ate mostly in silence and Eleanor found her racing heart underscoring it.

\---

That afternoon with neither in well enough spirits to want to take to journeying through the fields, they settled in the library. Serena sat near to the fire, fingers nimbly pushing and pulling a fine needle through a taught canvas in silence while Eleanor sat a distance away, a book opened in her lap but not a word from its pages retained in her mind. 

Eleanor stole the odd glance at Serena, studying the muscles tightly working in her jaw, her posture uncharacteristically rigid, until she couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“I was never very skilled with needlepoint.” It wasn’t much in the way of conversation but Eleanor was desperate and could think of nothing inventive with which to say to her friend. 

Serena’s eyes met hers and she seemed to consider her answer before looking back down, “It is not very difficult.”

“Well I don’t feel I’ve been shown correctly. My mother died giving birth to me and my father was not very fine with a needle and thread, unless the canvas was a wound needing mending.” 

Serena’s eyes flashed upwards and Eleanor noted the softness suddenly warming them. She hadn’t shared her mother’s passing with Serena and while Serena had likely assumed her mother had died, they hadn’t spoken of it.

“I didn’t realise,” Serena said quietly, and lay her hand on the settee next to her, “come sit by me, I can teach you.”

“Really?” Eleanor smiled though she felt her stomach flutter again when she settled next to Serena, close enough to smell the rose water from her hair.  

Eleanor watched carefully as Serena’s slender fingers worked with the needle, pushing and pulling. She spoke slowly and softly but her mind grew hazy again, memories of her dream flooding back to her until Serena’s voice seemed a great distance away. She saw her mouth on Serena’s neck, tongue tasting the pale skin of her throat. Felt her fingers digging into the lace of Serena’s nightgown as Serena touched her between her own naked thighs. 

“Eleanor?” Serena asked, bringing her skittering back to the present, unsure at all what Serena had just been saying. 

“Perhaps you would show me again?” Eleanor guessed and was relieved when Serena pressed her lips together into a kind smile and nodded, returning to the canvas and adding several more stitches.

When Serena offered her the needle her hands were trembling so much so that she dropped it between them and jumped when Serena’s hand brushed her thigh to pluck it back up. Eleanor could feel that Serena knew something was different about her but she was grateful that she spoke nothing of it and instead encouraged her to give the needlepoint a try.

\---

When evening fell upon Cottingwood House, Serena had suggested that they retire early, perhaps in an effort to allow Eleanor to rest, or perhaps to put an end to an oddly charged day. Either way, Eleanor had obliged and gone to her bedroom alone, turning down the maid’s assistance.

She readied for bed by unpinning her hair, stroking a brush through her long strands and tying them back with a silken ribbon. Then she undressed, layer upon layer until she could pull a fresh linen nightdress over her head and down across her naked flesh, still marked from the day of being confined in corset and strings. 

She looked at the clock on the mantle and listened to its ticking. But even as the seconds became minutes and the minutes became a whole hour, no knock came at her door. 

She was filled with a wretched hollow feeling, a loss for the closeness she had shared with her dearest friend only one day previously. She cursed herself, cursed her imagination, the sordid inner workings of her mind for allowing such a dream to invade her, to change her very core. She wanted to shout at it, to drink a magic solvent to chase away her remembrance of these thoughts. Anything, pray anything, to make her forget the wet ache between her legs when she’d awoken, breathless with the vision of Serena’s body, an extension of her own. 

But more than her own thoughts. More than the selfish, decadent trappings of her mind was the way she had hurt Serena. She hadn’t meant to, but hadn’t dared to tell her the truth of what had really happened. Yet in her omission of fact she had given the wrong impression. 

Her own sigh disrupted the stillness of the room and she opened the wardrobe, taking out the lace robe that she slid her arms into and tied at her waist. Taking the still-lit lantern from the table at the door that the maid had left, she ventured out into the darkness of the hall. 

She had been shown the location of Serena’s room on a previous day but the sheer size of Cottingwood made it difficult to remember which hallway lead in which direction, especially at the late hour where most lights had been extinguished or switched off. 

Once she found the dressing room she was able to slide her fingertips across the wall as she walked, counting doors until she found the one that she thought to be Serena’s. She held her hand up to knock but froze, still contemplating if it best she turn back.  _ Could she manage to make everything all the more muddled by proceeding? _

Finally after drawing in a deep breath and making her decision, she knocked twice firmly on the wooden door and waited. 

No sound followed, though she waited for what felt like hours though it having been but minutes. Feeling the decision had been made for her she turned to leave but heard a door creak open across the hall. 

“Eleanor?” Serena asked and she turned toward her, relief flooding her body to have found Serena and not an unsuspecting servant, clearing up a late night serving tray. 

“Yes,” Eleanor smiled softly, crossing to join Serena at her door, “I’m sorry to call at such a late hour, but I wanted to apologise.”

“Apologise?” Serena’s brows knit together in confusion.

“For what I said… for how… the impression I gave,” Eleanor’s fingers wrung together nervously at her middle, “I very much liked you coming to my room and my sleep is not lost from it.”

Serena looked downwards and Eleanor reached carefully between them to circle her wrist with her thumb and fingers, “It would please me if I might tell you a story tonight.”

When Serena’s eyes reclaimed hers, a small smile had found its way back to her lips and the sight pleased Eleanor so completely that the tightness that had clawed at her chest for the entirety of the day began to uncoil. 

Serena closed the door behind them and led Eleanor through the lady’s parlour room and into the bedroom where she noticed that the bedclothes were hardly disturbed from where the maid had laid them back, evidence that Serena had not even taken to bed, most likely a direct effect of her unhappiness. She felt the sick of guilt prickling the nape of her neck but she pushed it back and concentrated on bringing that cheer back to her dearest friend.

Eleanor removed the robe from her shoulders and climbed into the larger bed sinking into the silken linens that smelled overwhelmingly of Serena. Serena lay beside her at a distance and Eleanor felt that despite this particular bed being certainly the most comfortable of the two, that she missed the feeling of Serena’s nearness next to her. 

“Close your eyes,” Eleanor wrinkled her nose and settled back into the pillow, facing the lamplit ceiling, “and I shall recite a most beautiful verse for you..”

Serena obliged, her dark lashes sweeping closed in the most delicate of arcs against the paleness of her skin and pinkness of her cheeks. The bruises that bloomed here and there, the cut still marring her otherwise perfect features, had all begun to fade with time. Her full recovery was still quite far-off but even in seeing the minute changes and differences, Eleanor was contented that this day, like everything, too would pass.

__ “Things base and vile, holding no quantity,  
__ Love can transpose to form and dignity.  
_ Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.  
_ __ And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

When Eleanor tilted her chin to peek at her companion, she found Serena’s gaze already upon her, brown eyes glittering in the dim light. Then ever so softly she felt Serena's fingertips grazing her palm, short nails trailing the undersides of her fingers, before coupling their hands tightly together. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I can't believe my luck at how wonderful you all are. Thanks for supporting me and I hope you all had a fabulous Feb 14, whatever that day means to you.
> 
> Your comments give me life and a special shoutout to nicolaruth27 on Tumblr who made a photo companion for my story and literally I'm so touched I can't even talk about it.

The next morning Eleanor awakened to warm breath puffing against her cheek in gentle waves. When she blinked back the haze of sleep she saw that during the night they had migrated together towards the middle of the bed. She could feel Serena’s hand was still within hers, their fingers entwined just as they had been when they had drifted off to sleep, dampened now by heat and sweat. 

Serena’s eyes remained closed but very near to her own and Eleanor focused on each individual eyelash sweeping across the tops of her cheeks. She moved to the arch of Serena’s eyebrows, the faint lines around her eyes, the creases around her mouth, the dimple of her chin. Each feature she took in and committed to memory in the way she would a written verse that she found particularly fascinating or beautiful. She looked at Serena’s smoothe mouth, her slightly parted lips, her porcelain white teeth just barely visible behind. Her cheeks were reddened from the warmth of their bodies and a soft curl lay across one, separated from the rest of her ribbon-bound hair.

Eleanor lifted her free hand very slowly from beneath the blankets and lightly touched the curl with the very tips of her fingers. When Serena didn’t react, she trapped the curl between the pads of her thumb and index finger and indulged in how soft it was, fingers rubbing together, just as she had imagined it would be.

Serena’s eyelashes parted then, dark eyes looking up at her slowly and Eleanor felt her cheeks instantly grow flushed at being caught out. She gingerly brushed the curl back to the side of Serena’s face to meet the others and smiled apprehensively, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, dearest,” Serena’s own smile was bright, exquisite, something direct from the pages of a symphony and it stole Eleanor’s breath right from her. 

They lay together in silence, seemingly searching for words in each other’s irises. Serena’s lashes lowered as her eyes trailed down to Eleanor’s mouth and Eleanor felt her spine prickle along its length. She shivered involuntarily and Serena’s eyes returned to her own.

“Have you a chill?” Serena asked but didn’t allow her a moment to answer as she turned resolutely on her side, letting go of Eleanor’s fingers, and slid both of her arms around Eleanor’s slight frame, tucking her nose against the pulse of her throat. 

“Is this better?” she asked quietly, words muffled against Eleanor’s flushed skin.

“Yes,” Eleanor breathed, but her heart raced as though she had run the journey from London on foot.

“Oh yes,” she repeated, her own hands giving in, circling Serena’s hip and back and holding tight to her dear friend as though at any moment she could wake and find that Cottingwood House and Doctor Serena Campbell had all been the trappings of her own imagining.

\---

A letter arrived while Serena and Eleanor were enjoying breakfast in the dining room and the butler brought it in and handed it discretely to Serena as he refilled the water glass in front of her place sitting. 

“Who has brought this?” Serena nudged her fingernails under the seal.

“It was sent from London, m’am. Scotland Yard.”

The feet of Serena’s chair scraped across the wooden floor as she pushed back and rose from the table. Eleanor watched her excuse herself then furtively glanced at the butler who admirably ignored the urgency in his lady’s voice and dutifully stood at the ready for her return.

Her silverware clinked against the plate as Eleanor stood and excused herself soon after, following Serena out the way she had left. She found her in the drawing room, silhouetted in a large window under the sweeping arches of heavy drapes that hung along its edges, light filtering around her through the panes. 

“Serena?” Eleanor spoke quietly as not to startle her companion but still she gave a small start.

When she didn’t speak, Eleanor tentatively stood beside her, spying the trembling letter still clutched white-knuckled in Serena’s hands. Serena’s eyes were glittering and the muscles worked up and down her throat as she swallowed.

“Serena—” she said again, reaching out to touch her hand to the small of Serena’s back, “what has happened?”

“They found him,” she said finally, but Eleanor found herself struggling with whom Serena was referring to until she remembered the letter had come from Scotland Yard and the horrible events  of the preceding week flooded back to her.

“He is dead.”

“The man—?”   
“Yes. The one who—who attacked me. He is dead,” Serena looked at the letter but the paper fluttered so badly in her shaking fingers that Eleanor reached out to place a hand on hers to quell it. Serena relinquished the letter and Eleanor held it up to the morning light to read it.

The man had been found dead in an alleyway, two days following the incident at the Thrift. He’d died from a wound in his abdomen that had gone untreated and had grown infected. They had identified him by his possession of several silver medical utensils with the Thrift’s marking etched into their handles. Nothing else of value had been recovered and the case was officially closed. It was signed by Robert Medcalf. 

_ Of course. _

Eleanor circled an arm around Serena’s waist, drawing her into her side, “This is good news, Serena. This man cannot harm any other.”

But Serena’s smile never returned and she didn’t lean into Eleanor’s embrace. Instead, she looked out the window, eyes haunted and red-rimmed, body taut and trembling. 

Nothing was said for a long while until finally Serena’s eyes blinked back gathering tears and whispered, “I killed him.”

The words were like chords out of key to Eleanor’s ears, “What do you mean you ki—”

“I killed him. He—he— well I thought that he was going to—” The tears fell freely from Serena’s eyes glistening along the slope of her cheek, falling in droplets from her chin to the lace collar of her dress. Eleanor held Serena more tightly, guided her gently away from the window to the nearest settee and helped Serena sit down before seating herself beside. 

“I am listening Serena, you can tell me,” she whispered soothingly.

Serena’s chest shuddered over a wracking sob that spilled from her lips before she could stop it. She covered her mouth with her hand and crumpled forward as Eleanor’s embrace grew tighter still, hand rubbing small circles on her upper arm through the puff of her sleeve.

“He followed me into the office, I saw Nurse Heighton through the class behind him. She was f-f-frozen. She didn’t, I didn’t… it all happened so quickly. I gestured for her to go, to get out before—Eleanor I hadn’t any idea what he was going to do,” Serena’s voice broke over the words as she recounted the story of what had happened. Eleanor had not yet heard her account, had not questioned Serena previously. Like Serena, she’d wanted to forget the whole incident.

“George followed Nurse Heighton out—and he saw them. He saw them go, he was worried they would, that they would be getting the constable. He rounded on me—Oh Eleanor! I would have given him the money if he had asked. I would—I would have reimbursed the funds, I would have taken care of that,” Serena drew in a tremulous breath, “but he didn’t ask that of me. He looked—there was a look in his eyes as though he wanted to hurt me. That he wanted to hurt someone and I was the one that was there.”

Eleanor’s stomach ached at the thought. If she had been the one to take the night shift, she would have been the target. Oh, how she would have stood in Serena’s place no matter the danger. She would willingly take any horror destined for Serena Campbell as her own, unquestioningly and without regret.

“He lunged at me, overpowered me and I wasn’t able to keep him away. He hit me several times, I reached out but I couldn’t find anything, there was nothing to—” Serena reached for Eleanor’s hand and clutched it between hers tightly, “I knocked over the instrument tray as he pushed me to the floor. I thought he was going to—I didn’t know, I just saw the scalpel on the floor and I hid it beneath me. When he turned me over and put his hand at my throat, I forced my hand out—” 

Serena couldn’t go on, her hand squeezed Eleanor’s like a vice and her body quaked with a barrage of sobs that brought tears to Eleanor’s eyes.

“Serena, that was not your fault. You had to defend yourself,” Eleanor’s hand moved to Serena’s temple and pressed the woman’s head against her own, “No one would ask of you to handle the situation any differently.”

“We are doctors, Eleanor,” Serena’s tears moistened her cheek as their heads remained firmly together, “we are not meant to harm.”

Eleanor extracted her hand from Serena’s grasp and touched the palm to the opposing side of her face, fingers disappearing into Serena’s pinned hair on either side of her head. She guided Serena’s chin towards her and looked deeply into her eyes, “Serena you are the most brilliant doctor I have ever known. You have no room in your heart for malice for it is filled so fully with love and kindness. You were brave, you stopped him hurting others and you saved your very own life; for that Serena I am eternally grateful, for my life should be desolate without you in it.”

Serena’s shimmering, tear-filled eyes held hers in such a way that Eleanor’s heart lost both time and beat. Then Serena moved so quickly forward that Eleanor hadn’t a moment to process what was happening until Serena’s warm soft mouth was upon hers. There was no hesitation in her lips, they were insistent against Eleanor’s, upon them at first then nudging between them, Serena’s tongue intoxicatingly sweet as it rolled across the entrance to her mouth.

She felt lightheaded, swaying into the kiss, her fingertips digging into the sides of Serena’s scalp. She felt she might faint from the overwhelming feeling of it all, lost in Serena’s kiss, floating like a spirit on a higher plane, untethered to any world and completely free from restraint—until she remembered herself and reality crashed in her ears like a chilling reckoning.

_ What had she done?  _

Eleanor pulled back, their lips separating wet and swollen, breaths heaving both of their bosoms in syncopation. She moved her hands from Serena’s hair, wringing them together at her middle as she rose from the settee and lurched across the room, putting distance between them.

When she turned and looked back, braving her companion, Serena’s eyes were as wide as a fox's startled by a hunting dog.

“I am sorry,” Eleanor said, when she could say nothing more. “I am so dreadfully sorry,” she said again, her voice breaking at the last syllable as she pressed a hand over her mouth and hurried from the room.

“Eleanor!” Serena called after her, but Eleanor didn’t falter as her footfalls pounded the floor beneath the upswept hem of her bustling skirts. Each careening step carried her further and further from the woman that she now so frighteningly, apprehensively realized—she was in love with.

\---

 

To be continued...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we're getting there guys. I hope the wait was worth these final chapters. Please let me know if you've enjoyed them, and hey, let me know if there are scenes you might like to see? I can't promise anything but my inspiration comes from everywhere so you never know.
> 
> I appreciate you all so much for sticking with me and with Doctor Bramwell and Doctor Campbell.

The blunted rose bushes lined the rosarium like crippled soldiers, winter having stripped away the color and purpose from each derelict branch. The air had turned particularly bitter and the sky, a grey expanse, rippled with patches of ominous violet. Eleanor fastened the top buttons of her traveling coat to shut out the chill but it offered little comfort. The sickening feeling in her stomach had worsened and it ached from the weight of what had transpired. The tears had stopped coming but the cool air still stung the moistened skin beneath her eyes and made it feel raw and blistered.

Her boots deepened a path in the damp soil as she paced through the garden, unable to keep still. The desire to flee wrung steadily at her nerves. She had sent a note with her attending maid in hopes to arrange transportation back to London that did not involve the Cottingwood livery stables. The same maid had packed her belongings into her trunk under the guise of an emergency back in London that required her immediate attention. Her letter stated she would wait in the garden until the carriage had arrived, but she found even that a challenge when her heart’s erratic beat bid her: _run, run, run._

Eleanor’s bare fist tapped at her middle, a steady rhythm to quell the sickness that weakened her knees and threatened to double her over. The discomfort grew worse until she suddenly felt that she would lose the contents of her stomach. When she leaned between two barren branches, catching a handful of thorns, a dry wretch was all that was produced. Her hands drew back with droplets of scarlet raising to the surface of her fingers and palms like pins on a map. When she stepped back from the bush she found her dress caught in the branches and she pulled but could not immediately extract herself.

“Eleanor.”

She dropped the hems of her skirt, startling at the sound of the quiet voice and rustling fabric. Looking up, she saw Serena standing at the entryway to the rosarium, under the great archway that separated it from the rest of the gardens. She was not wearing a coat or other appropriate overgarments for the weather, and her hair had pulled loose from several of the pins, tendrils of brown whipping with the wind that had begun to stir the frigid air.

“You would go to London without even so much as a word to me?” Serena’s voice was breathless from running, her face a picture of distress. She brandished a cream colored paper, her eyes dark and red and glittering as she moved towards Eleanor who remained restrained by the branches of the rose bush.

When Serena neared her she saw the outline of her own handwritten scrawl on the sheet of paper. It was the note she had given the maid.

“I am sorry,” Eleanor said finally, her voice but a whisper on the wind that now whisked between them. The urge to run was overpowering and she frantically pulled at her dress hem, the fabric tearing, but she couldn't get it free.

“Sorry?” Serena’s dark eyes were followed with pain, her mouth drawn and lips trembling, “After all that you have said?”

“Serena I—”

“I went to your room, your things had been taken away. Why would you do this? What have I—?”

“It isn’t you Serena,” Eleanor reached out and dared to take Serena’s cold hand in her own, clutching it securely, though she knew even that small touch was a danger to both of them.

“I kissed you Eleanor, how could it not—”

“You did nothing that I dared not wish from you,” Eleanor could not meet her eyes, “my wickedness has forced your hand.”

“Of what wickedness do you speak? You wished for nothing that I did not give freely!”

“I did Serena,” Eleanor’s jaw was set, eyes rising to meet Serena’s, the meaning of the words reinforced in the certainty of their deliverance,  “and that is why I must go.”

Serena’s eyes welled with unshed tears. She held Eleanor’s hands between hers, desperately, “I do not wish for you to go.”

“But do you not see? That I—that these feelings within me, that they will corrupt you.”

“But you are not wicked, Eleanor,” Serena’s breath was warm on her cold cheek, “I have shared these feelings of want—” Serena’s fingers closed around Eleanor’s anew, tracing them delicately, “—of desire.”

She brought Eleanor’s hands towards her chest, clasping them above her heart, her voice low and eyes imploring, “What makes it so very wicked? That we should feel love for another, regardless of our matching gender.”

“Love?” Eleanor’s voice caught, her chest tight, her nerves a spontaneous current.

“Is that not the word for how you feel? It is the word for how I feel, Eleanor.” Serena stepped so close to her that only their joined hands that were pressed against Serena’s chest, separated them, “What I feel for you, right or wrong, is love.”

“You must let me go Serena,” Eleanor pleaded, her own lips trembling over each pained word, “for I fear I will kiss you again and again and I will not be able to stop.”

“Then I shall never let you go Eleanor.”

Serena’s eyelashes lowered over her ink black eyes until her irises disappeared entirely, her lips swallowing the distance to Eleanor’s and meeting her mouth with fervor.

Eleanor felt herself moan, shocking her own ears as she released Serena’s hands and glided them around the stiff sides of her corset to clutch above her bustle at the small of her back. Eleanor felt her belly tremble with need, an ache settling between her thighs as their mouths moved open-lipped in their coupling, hot breaths fogging the air that expelled from their lungs in fits and gasps.

Serena’s fingers clutched at her shoulder blades and her tongue met Eleanor’s ardently. Eleanor felt she would faint at the sensation, her head spinning with the headiness of Serena’s affections. It was as if her entire life had been a mere rehearsal for this moment. It was here, on this frigidly cold day in the countryside, in the rosarium at Cottingwood House, that she would come alive. That she would break from the cocoon of life she had been dormant in, and here, with Serena, she took flight.

“Eleanor, I do love you so,” Serena whispered against her mouth when their lips parted briefly in between the peppered kisses that followed, “oh how I love you.”

Eleanor only realized she had become tearful when a drop trickled a path down her neck.

“And I, you, Serena,” she whispered, trying the words she had turned so steadily away from herself whenever she had felt them surface, “I love you.”

“Then you must stay with me,” Serena gasped beside Eleanor’s lips, her eyes still closed from their kissing, “just until the fortnight is through. Then we return to London,” Serena’s lips pressed to her jaw, “together.”

Eleanor tried to calm her heart that rattled so sharply in her chest, but she could not. Her heart belonged to Serena now and it would beat only at her will.

\---

It was the rain that finally chased them out of the rosarium, erupting from the sky suddenly and soaking through their clothes as they ran, hand in hand back to the house. Serena sent for her valet and instructed him that no carriage was required for Doctor Bramwell and that her trunk should be returned to her room.

Serena then sent her lady’s maid to instruct the cook that their lunch would be taken in her private sitting room and she was to have no visitors before or after.

Eleanor’s stomach shivered with uncertainty, of fear and of want, that she could barely conceal it from her face, but Serena reassured her with a promising smile and a squeeze of her hand.

When they arrived in Serena’s dressing room, Eleanor stood nervously near the door, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

“We must change from these dresses before we catch our death,” Serena said as she opened a large wardrobe and pulled out a dark navy dress.

“I shall go to my room and find my trunk,” Eleanor suggested but Serena shook her head dismissively.

“No, no I have something that you can wear.”

“Would that be appropriate?”

Serena laughed, “We aren’t expecting guests Eleanor, I believe it would be agreeable.”

Serena began searching through the dresses but her hand stopped and a smile spread across her face. She turned towards Eleanor, “I have something for you. This is not for today, but for tomorrow evening. You see it was meant to be a surprise,” Serena reached up to one of the shelves in her wardrobe and pulled down a paper and ribbon wrapped parcel.

“I had decided to throw a party with some of my dearest friends, I want very much for them to meet you before we return to London and we’ve all but run out of days,” Serena’s face fell at her own words, and the realization and weight of them.

She walked over and placed the package on the tuffet, “Please open it.”

Eleanor approached curiously and followed Serena’s instructions, pulling the ribbons until they unravelled, her fingertips nudging beneath the paper to find the edge which she pulled apart very carefully.

Inside was the most beautiful olive green muslin dress she had ever seen. She touched it so carefully as not to damage it and Serena lifted it up to show it to her properly. The bodice was tapered, almost square and low, with halves of richer, darker green pulling in around the middle and falling in deep sweeping layers at the side. She had never in all of her life seen a more beautiful gown.

“This is for you to wear tomorrow evening. I had Mrs Ditton prepare it to your measurements,” Serena draped the dress over the tuffet and the opened pile of paper and ribbon, “I dare say you will be the envy of all fortunate enough to see you.”

Eleanor felt herself flush at Serena’s words and when she looked at her, she caught Serena’s eyes which were glittering so deeply with a want that left Eleanor breathless. Serena stepped closer to her then and placed a hand on the curve of her neck, drawing Eleanor’s mouth to hers where they shared another kiss that made Eleanor unsteady on her feet.

Serena laughed softly when they parted, holding Eleanor still from her swaying, “I think it best we take our midday meal before we do anything else or I feel you may faint from hunger.”

“This hunger is not satiated by food,” Eleanor whispered, so lost in Serena’s eyes and mouth that she could not stop the wretched truths from escaping her kiss-swollen lips.

Serena’s eyes flickered down to her lips and they moved together again but a knock at the door parted them.

“Come,” Serena said evenly, though her chest rose and fell and her eyes still held Eleanor’s.

The maid came in, sinking into a curtsy, “The tables in your sitting room have been set ma’am.”

“Thank you Emma, Doctor Bramwell and I will be in there as soon as we change our clothes.”

“Shall I assist you, ma’am?” Emma asked.

“I do not require assistance, Emma. Thank you,” Serena smiled and Emma curtsied again before leaving the room.

Serena looked towards Eleanor then moved back to her hanging dress and recovered another smaller gold dress from the same wardrobe, “I had this made before I was married, when my figure was slight. It should fit you suitably.”

Eleanor smiled and took the dress, walking behind the changing screen. As she began to pull buttons apart at the back of her neck, Serena appeared around the edge of the screen, eyes downcast to offer her privacy, holding out a pale ivory corset and linen underclothes.

Eleanor took them, her fingers caressing Serena’s as she did so. Serena’s eyes rose to meet hers and she asked “Shall I help you with your dress?”

“I would be grateful,” Eleanor whispered and turned her back to Serena slowly.

She could feel Serena’s fingers nudging each hook and eye down from the nape of her neck along the curve of her spine, the wet fabric parting. She wondered in awe at how her body could react so viscerally to the proximity as each time Serena’s fingers graced her body she could feel it in the depths of her stomach.

It occurred to Eleanor then, as Serena’s hands rendered her breathless at even the barest of touches, that she could not anticipate what would come between them. Would their kisses welcome the intimacy of touching? Would Serena look upon her nude figure like that of a lover? Would Serena touch her as a lover would? Would their mouths move over one another’s skin from lips and necks, to far more explicit places? Would Serena make noise? Would she ask of Eleanor’s hands, of her mouth, of her body — of her soul?

The throbbing between her legs grew almost painful and when Serena left her behind the screen she dared to press her own hand between them firmly in an effort to release the pressure she felt. But the pressure did not dissipate, the ache only grew more desperate. So desperate was she to touch Serena, to know her as a lover, that she could think of nothing else.

And yet she must, Eleanor decided firmly, pinching her wrist to distract herself. She must, for the road ahead was not clear and set. What they were to do, if they were to go along an untrodden path together, would be traversing foreign territory. She took comfort in knowing they would be at each other's side. 

Across valleys, through forests, over mountains—they would go, always, together.

\---

_To be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JTiptree3 is a genuine gift from the gods to a writer. She has elevated my story to completely new heights with her incredible talent as a beta. I am so grateful.
> 
> This is the second to last chapter and we're almost at the end of it. If you're following me on Tumblr you'll know that this one... this one folks - well read it in private is all I'm saying.
> 
> Please please comment if you do read it. It gives me such joy!

Serena and Eleanor ate their meal in the drawing room in silence, save for the sound of rain pattering against the window panes and the delicate chinking of silver against china. The usual ease of their friendship had given way to disquiet as first minutes, then hours passed between them and the irreversible shift in their relationship. Eleanor found her hands trembling as she lifted the spoon to her lips; as she reached for the crystal drinking glass; as she stole furtive glances at her companion. Several times her sheepish gaze caught Serena’s and she could feel the brightness of her own cheeks. Fluttered lashes helped avert one’s eyes and the knock of the maid to disrupt the quiescence.

“What would you care to do this afternoon?” Serena’s confidence seemed to return with the maid’s presence, yet Eleanor struggled to find the appropriate answer along with her own steady voice. There were many things she could imagine herself doing with Serena and each imagining was more damning than the last. She felt suddenly too hot for the blustery day that had set upon them.

“Perhaps a walk,” Eleanor suggested, but even as she did she could hear the incessant tapping of the rain at the window.

Serena smiled, her eyes twinkling, “I think we’re rather trapped inside for the afternoon.”

Eleanor looked to the maid nervously then straightened her back and cleared her throat in an attempt to look unaffected. She couldn't keep the smile from her lips though at Serena’s brazen yet innocuous words.

When she finally managed to look at Serena again she found a smile that mirrored her own.

“I have an idea,” Serena all but chirped as she rose from her chair and stepped back from the table. Eleanor placed the cloth napkin on its surface and followed her, leaving the maid to her duties. Once the door to Serena’s private sitting room was closed behind them, Serena took Eleanor’s hand in hers and pulled her at a run down the long hallway.

\---

Panting and breathless from their run, they came to a stop in a private study tucked away in the furthest reaches of the house on the third floor. Serena’s dark eyes shone bright with excitement and a smile played across her lips as she walked to one wall of books and lifted a novel off of the shelf.

Eleanor looked to the book curiously and moved to stand at Serena’s side in observation when Serena clicked a latch on the shelf and pulled, the book shelf separating from the rest and revealing a room hidden behind.

The surprise was evident on Eleanor’s face and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Merely one of my many secrets.”

Serena put the book back in its place on the shelf and gestured for Eleanor to enter. She had heard of large countryside homes having hidden rooms and passageways but she had never before been invited into one. Rooms as such were often kept private and available to only their owners and members of the family.

The room was quite small, enough for a high-backed chair, and a desk that held a few well-worn books. There were no windows, but an oil lamp which Serena lit before pushing the door closed behind them. The light dancing across the walls in the small but quaint room calmed Eleanor, despite the feeling that they now were very much alone together with nothing to keep them apart.

“Long ago I would use this place when I grew tired of my husband’s endless guests.” Serena lifted a book and read its spine before placing it back down, “This was a room of my own.”

Eleanor looked a little more closely at the books on the desk. They were medical texts, similar to those that filled her father’s bookshelves at home. The very same books she herself her pored over, closed away in her bedroom, a place of her own where the rules of old male doctors emasculated by the mere thought of women working alongside them, never reached her.

“I can see why you have chosen it,” Eleanor smiled softly, watching Serena in the flickering light, “it is quite secluded.”

Time seemed to still at Cottonwood House. The grand dining room, the rosarium, the road to London — all seemed to fade away on the periphery, enhancing the feeling of seclusion. Eleanor could never recall feeling coiled so very tightly within herself. Her fingers flexed and tightened, her stomach shivered as though it held within it, a thousand fluttering butterfly wings.

“Unimaginably so,” Serena whispered, eyes meeting Eleanor’s with an intensity that effectively ended any remaining vestiges of pretense. They both knew what was to happen; An inevitably they had been steadily drawing nearer to from the moment they met.

Surprisingly, it was not Serena whose restraint crumbled first as it was Eleanor who surged forward. It was Eleanor who captured Serena’s hips in her hands, mouth heatedly pressing against hers. It was Eleanor who moaned, “I desire you,” as she placed kiss upon kiss to the delicate flesh of Serena’s jaw and neck.

Her hands caressed the small of Serena’s back and reached upwards to hold her against the edge of the desk. She kissed down the slope of Serena’s pale throat in short measure, tasting traces of perspiration and the sharpness of her perfume. Serena’s head lulled backwards and exposed a pasture of bare skin to Eleanor’s insatiable mouth and she gasped when Eleanor’s lips and tongue met the hollow of her throat.

“Oh Eleanor,” Her name rumbled low in Serena’s mouth, accented by a deep moan, made the ache between her legs painfully tight as she watched and listened to Serena’s laboured breathing. Serena suddenly grasped Eleanor’s shoulders and her soft hands traced the line of Eleanor’s collarbone and over the fabric restraining her chest. Eleanor’s nipples tightened and stiffened as Serena’s fingers raked across them through the silk of her bodice, the friction eliciting a whimper that Eleanor could not restrain.

“I long to hear you Eleanor,” Serena moved to stand behind Eleanor, her fingers fumbling with the buttons at her back, but her haste hindered her ability to loosen the dress or corset below. Impatiently, Serena reached over Eleanor's shoulder and nudged her hand down the front of the gown, wriggling beneath the bodice to caress Eleanor's breast, skin to skin. The sensation of Serena's fingertips brushing the sensitive flesh below tore a shuddering gasp from Eleanor’s kiss-swollen lips.

“I have longed to touch you like this,” Serena whispered into the shell of Eleanor’s ear and leaned into her from behind, trapping her front against the wooden desk. Her fingertips trailed across Eleanor's nipple once more, squeezing the hardened flesh one last time before withdrawing from the gown.

“May I touch you?” Serena asked, hands traveling to the curve of her waist.

“Please, please, please touch me,” Eleanor rasped in reply, pushing her backside firmly against Serena's front.

Serena drew fistfuls of Eleanor's gown up until she could slide the palm of her hand up one linen clad thigh. She caressed and stroked up the swell of her rear but Eleanor was impatient for Serena's touch.

“Touch me, Serena,” she all but begged, bracing herself against the desk in front of her.

She was rewarded immediately when Serena’s hand snaked down her backside and between her thighs, finally reaching the epicenter of her raw desire. Eleanor tried to swallow her cry but the sound still escaped, strangled by her closing lips and followed by short gasps as her head spun from the sensation. Serena groaned and slid one arm tightly around Eleanor’s waist and Eleanor wantonly stood apart her legs to accommodate Serena's slender hand between them.

“Ohh,” Eleanor groaned and grasped at the books on the desk, knocking several to the floor as she tried to get purchase while Serena's fingers and palm massaged the tenderness between her legs through her bloomers.

Behind her she could feel the swell of Serena's breasts against her back, her body pressing tightly against her, Serena's arm steady against her waist and shivering belly. It overwhelmed her completely and Eleanor thought that this very sensation, everything she was feeling was far too precious, far too perfect to be wicked. She had never felt so strongly before in all of her life, not with Finn, not even in her deepest imaginings.

She was whimpering and moaning loudly now but she couldn't bring herself to care. All that existed of any importance was herself, Serena, and the hammering of their hearts.

“How exquisite you are—” Serena’s breath was hot at her ear, in between pleasing kisses at the nape of her neck. Teeth raked across her hairline, a tongue moistened the skin where her shoulder met her neck, “Oh how I have yearned to taste you.”

Eleanor felt the pressure growing inside of her and she felt at any moment she might burst from it. Serena's fingers molded against her and while thin damp fabric separated their skin, it did not stop Serena's fingers finding the folds of her sex, the hidden virtues of her womanhood with the skill only a woman could master.

Serena’s hand moved insistently against her, stroking her firmly where she most had need and then pushing the cloth of her bloomers just between the opening of her sex, steepled by adventurous fingers. It was all too much for Eleanor, her body coiling tightly and heaving beneath Serena’s touch. She gasped, drawing short bursts of air into her lungs in desperation as she felt each nerve ending crackling within her. Finally when she felt she could do naught else, her body erupted in pulses of sensation and she fell forward on the desk against her forearms, hands slick with sweat and body shuddering uncontrollably.

Serena withdrew her hand from between Eleanor's legs, letting the skirts down as her arm joined the other around Eleanor's middle and held her in a tight embrace, laying her cheek between her shoulders.

They stood this way for a long time and Eleanor felt she would barely remain standing if it weren't for Serena's arms lending her strength. She turned in the embrace then, taking Serena’s lips with hers, teeth clipping one another with the ferocity of unbridled desire. Eleanor felt she could not get close enough to Serena, that she wanted to envelope this woman inside of her, to hold her captive in the chambers of her heart and to never again be without her.

Eleanor guided Serena to sit down in the chair, her own legs so weak that she all but collapsed on the floor in front of it.

“My darling,” Serena whispered, leaning forward to stroke Eleanor’s flushed cheek.

Eleanor smiled and craned her neck up to place a warm kiss beside Serena’s lips before lowering her hands to Serena's stocking-clad ankles. She watched Serena’s eyes grow impossibly dark as her hands moved upwards beneath her skirt, over her calves, behind her knee, up the tops of her thighs. Their gaze didn't falter as Eleanor’s fingers grasped Serena’s knees and slowly began to push them apart.

Serena’s lips played at a smile though the expression was wild with need.

“May I?” Eleanor asked, though she needn't because Serena was nodding profusely as she leaned back in the arm chair, submitting to Eleanor's roaming hands.

Finding the waistband of Serena’s bloomers tucked beneath her corset, she pulled the linen fabric sharply in order to free it and then worked the garment down Serena's legs.

The scent of arousal filled the air and Eleanor lifted Serena’s skirts above her knees and back over her thighs and the sides of the chair. It wasn't only recalled scenes from her vivid imagination that gave her the courage to cross each barrier, but an almost instinctive pull. She cared not for fear or hesitation in this moment. Her ardor was insatiable.

Her hands slid up the backs of Serena’s naked thighs and she grasped the impossibly soft flesh of her backside as she pulled Serena’s body nearer the edge of the chair, her knees falling further apart and exposing her sex to Eleanor’s fascinated eyes.

She looked up at Serena, their eyes meeting as she allowed her hand to stroke the down-soft curls between her legs.

“Ohh Eleanor,” Serena whispered, her eyelashes fluttering, struggling to remain open.

Eleanor’s fingers dipped lower and separated the folds of Serena’s heated sex as she slipped them tentatively within. When she withdrew them they were coated with Serena's arousal and she brought them to her mouth, her tongue collecting the cream as she held Serena’s libidinous gaze. Serena tasted mild and sweet and Eleanor knew it would prove more addictive than laudanum or any other medicine ever could.

“Eleanor, Eleanor, Eleanor,”

Her name was repeated in cadence on Serena’s lips as her head rolled back, unable to produce an ounce of control under the sensual assault of Eleanor's exploring fingers which returned to their ministrations.

She separated the slick folds with her fingertips and leaned forward, cheeks brushing brazenly against the inside of Serena’s trembling thighs. She could feel her heart racing and Serena squirming beneath her as she finally closed her lips around the pink, throbbing flesh and sucked.

Serena cried out sharply and buried her hands in the curls at the crown of Eleanor's head.

\---

They lay together in the hidden chamber side by side, the chair having been pushed away to accommodate their spent bodies on the floor. Their breathing had calmed from their coupling but their skin was still flushed, hair pulled half down from their pins. Their heads were turned toward one another, eyes never leaving, glances never faltering as smiles spread across their kiss-reddened lips.

“I have never felt this happy,” Eleanor spoke first, memorizing each line and dimple in Serena’s perfect face.

“Neither have I,” Serena replied, turning on her side and propping herself up on one elbow.

Serena’s finger trailed up the side of her cheek, around her eye and down the slope of her nose, “I never dreamed I would meet someone like you.”

“Nor I you,” Eleanor confessed.

“Why has it taken so long for me to find you?” Serena asked though she didn't expect an answer, for there could be none, “I wasted so much time on a loveless marriage, hiding on my own, pouring myself into medicine. Fixing people comforts me, makes me feel useful and needed — never wanted.”

Eleanor’s lips parted to speak but Serena pressed her own against them to quiet her with a kiss before continuing, “With you I feel desired, Eleanor. With you I desire, again. I want nothing more than to be with you this way, every day for the remainder of our lives.”

Tears welled up in Eleanor’s eyes and she blinked them back but one treasonous drop escaped, collected on Serena’s fingertip.

“We are similar in that regard,” Eleanor smiled softly, reaching up to touch Serena’s cheek, “I have never known what it feels like to love so strongly and steadfastly until you, Serena. Now I am plagued by it. I am sick with my want for you and yet I don't ever wish to be cured of it.”

Serena lay her ear against Eleanor’s chest, listening to the thump of her quick-beating heart.

“Society will judge us harshly,” Serena warned, though it didn't frighten Eleanor in the least. Their lives in medicine had already been filled with judgement of every description. They would have to be careful, of course, but they would not have to be alone.

“When has it not?” Eleanor replied and could feel Serena’s smile spreading against her chest.

\---


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this story. This is the conclusion, we're all done (for now...). I know it was kind of a different idea to pitch to the Berena community and your support for my writing has meant the world to me. Thank you for commenting, for encouraging me along the way. It's meant a great deal. 
> 
> I could not have done this without the help of my tireless beta JipTree3. I have to tell you this chapter specifically, she helped me recraft it when the tone shifted a bit and gave it the life it needed. She is a godsend.

Heavy rains flooded and washed away the road to London and after very little deliberation, Eleanor and Serena decided to stay on at Cottingwood House until the weather became less treacherous.

Serena reluctantly cancelled the party she had planned as the vehicle for introducing Eleanor to her circle of friends, after the conditions made travel all but impossible. Still, they took dinner as originally planned, Eleanor wearing the gown that Serena had had made for her. She flushed repeatedly under Serena’s roaming gaze and took great pleasure in the appreciation that sparkled in her eyes throughout the meal.

After dinner, they closed the doors to the sitting room. Serena’s hand found Eleanor’s slender hip and she pulled into her, hands clasped as they danced without music in the glow from the hearth.

“I wish it were that I may dance with you in this way, in a room full of people, knowing each one was more jealous than the last,” Serena whispered, lips quirking in the smallest of smiles as she led Eleanor into a turn.

Eleanor tensed and she was unsure whether it was because she too wished for this of which Serena spoke, or if it was out of fear of others seeing them together in this intimate manner. Their moments together thus far had been private and apart from the world. Would others be unkind? Would they be cruel? How much safety could their social stations offer? What would her father say?

“I fear we shall never have that pleasure,” Eleanor answered, eyes not quite meeting Serena’s.

Serena did not comment. Instead she brought Eleanor’s body flush against hers, a smile ever present at her lips with a wiseness and confidence that Eleanor so longed to feel herself.

\--

They'd spent most of their days tucked away in the darker recesses of the house, far from the wandering eyes and ears of the servants. They indulged their inner desires and stole heated kisses in front of picturesque windows, clutched hands as they walked quiet corridors, and snuck behind doors to quench the almost insatiable thirst they felt so headily for one another.

One morning, as rain lashed against the windows and rolled down the glass in undulating sheets, the women lay in Serena’s bed, nude and flushed from their coupling. Serena’s fingertips announced her reawakened appetite as they stroked Eleanor’s hips, tantalizing her inner thigh before curving back up to sprinkle lightly over the dip of her abdomen, over the ripple of each rib.

“You will drive me mad,” Eleanor groaned, but a laugh betrayed her true feelings as she threw an arm across her eyes.

Serena smiled, fingers closing around one of Eleanor’s nipples and tugging until the malleable flesh grew rigid and raised under her fingertips. “That is my intention,” she sang in a whisper and brought her mouth down, her tongue laving around the pink, hardened peak.

Eleanor’s teeth sunk into her lower lip as she writhed beneath her lover, hands reaching down to thread through Serena’s hair, nails scratching at her scalp and fingers tightening at the root.

Serena sucked and bit at the tender skin, encouraged by Eleanor’s hands. She could feel the growing tension throughout the whole of her body, culminating in the awakening pulse at the apex of her thighs. Serena’s mouth moved further down, leaving her nipple to cool in the air as she continued to lick beneath her breast, to swirl around her navel, to press kisses lower and lower until her lips latched between Eleanor’s legs and made her gasp and arch off of the bed, crying Serena’s name like the chorus to the holiest of hymns.

That particular day came and went without either rising from the bed, except to take the meals left by servants outside of the door and to use the lavatory. They spent the seconds memorizing the look and feel and taste of each other’s bodies. They spent the minutes whispering poetic words of adoration against the divers places of those bodies. They spent the hours sharing every piece of themselves without hesitation or reserve or even a care for what might lie ahead.

\---

The rain eventually ceased and the warm sun began to dry the country puddle-pocked roads that wound their way towards London. Most living in the area were delighted to be freed by the relentless weather to travel again, but for two women at Cottingwood House it meant a stark return to reality; A return to the city of London with prying eyes and the exhausting gossip of “le bon ton”.

They sat side by side in the carriage, their bodies mirroring their positions of a mere fortnight prior. Much had changed in that time and Eleanor thought that the newfound happiness she had found in her companion, her love, would never extinguish. It filled her wholly, displacing the very air in her lungs and lacing down each long finger racing through her veins like an antidote to heal all ailments.

She glanced sideways at Serena who was looking out the window as the countryside gave way to the beginnings of London Town, a small contented smile bright on her lips. Everything had changed irreversibly between them. The world had been made anew. Serena’s bruises had begun to fade and blooming in their place was an overwhelming sensation of joy that neither had ever known before. Eleanor wondered if it could be read on their faces or in the way their eyes met, or in the way their cheeks colored.

Eleanor’s thoughts strayed to East London, to the Thrift, to friends, to her father. What would they all think? Would they ever know? Could they ever understand the purity and the strength with which she loved Serena Campbell? These questions might never be answered but still she asked them, if only silently to herself.

There was a part of her, the part that had dreamed of a wedding and of a marriage, that had never considered she could ever fall in love with a woman. It wasn’t something she would have believed herself capable of, had the feelings not come to her quite unexpectedly and filled her so completely and contentedly. Her thoughts darkened when she pondered what might never have been had she not met Dr Campbell, had she never been blessed by her enchanting smile or felt the pull of her magnetic personality. The childhood dreams of walking down the aisle of a Church to greet some tall, faceless man were now forever changed: Serena’s feminine figure joined with her at the altar now, hand clasping hers. She knew she would never recall the imaginings of before because they could never again be a part of her.

“Eleanor, my love, look at me,” Serena said softly, reading the worry on Eleanor’s knit brows. Eleanor looked to her in surprise at being caught out, wistful and staring, her worry dissipating immediately when she met Serena’s gentle eyes. Serena lifted Eleanor’s hand to her mouth and held her gaze as she placed a kiss upon her cool knuckles. Eleanor felt as much as saw the mirth shining in Serena’s eyes as the carriage rolled steadily deeper into East London, nearing where their story had begun not long ago and where it would continue, ad infinitum,

“I am looking and oh how I love you, Serena Campbell,” Eleanor whispered, her nose wrinkling as the tears came too readily to her cheeks propelled by the jostling carriage that now crossed cobblestoned roads.

“And I love you Eleanor Bramwell. I am yours, very much yours, without fear for the days ahead. We shall be together Eleanor, until the end of time if we wish it so,” Serena turned Eleanor’s hand over and her eyelashes closed as she breathed against the fragile skin of Eleanor’s wrist, “and I do wish it so.”

\---

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art: To Neither Give Nor Take Excuse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738068) by [Kayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayryn/pseuds/Kayryn)




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